


Presumed Guilty

by StealingFire



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Greenwich Village, Jazz - Freeform, Kabby, Kane singing, Lawyers, Murder Mystery, Mystery, New York City, Slow Burn, Tribeca, Warm fires, cosy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-01-30 04:35:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 189,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21422287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealingFire/pseuds/StealingFire
Summary: Assistant District Attorney Abby Griffin works as a prosecutor for the City of New York. Marcus Kane is a renowned defence lawyer whose clients are high profile and not exactly innocent. Kane rarely loses a case, and likes to humiliate the prosecution in the process. Abby hates his methods, and the two clash regularly. However, on a warm autumn day in New York, her life is turned upside down when she's accused of a crime she says she didn't commit. Will anyone believe her? And will her nemesis turn out to be the partner she needs in her quest to clear her name?
Relationships: Abby Griffin/Marcus Kane
Comments: 444
Kudos: 431





	1. Chapter 1

Assistant District Attorney Abby Griffin sat at the prosecutor’s table and watched with growing horror as the counsel for the defence systematically tore apart the key piece of evidence in her case. She wanted to sink to the table with her head in her hands, but that would look defeatist to the judge and jury, and she was still clinging to the slim hope she could find a way out of this. This was a high-profile murder case with a well-known defendant, and her boss wasn’t going to be happy if she lost it, especially under these circumstances.

Her opponent, Counselor Marcus Kane, was prowling back and forth in front of the witness box, like a panther stalking its prey, getting closer and closer with every pass. He was getting ready to pounce; Abby could see it in the set of his shoulders, the way he was leaning slightly forward. It sent shivers down her spine. He was going to tear her witness apart, and then he was going to turn his sights on her. She sat straighter, preparing to defend herself.

“I put it to you, Detective Saunders, that you weren’t as vigilant with the evidence as you claim to have been.” Kane paused in his pacing, fixed the detective with a stare.

“I...”

“In fact, you were downright careless.”

“I wouldn’t say...”

“You were trusted with this precious piece of evidence, and all you had to do was look after it.”

“Yes...”

“But you failed to do that.”

“I...”

“You...”

Abby stood, resting her hands on the table. “Objection, Your Honour. Counselor Kane is badgering the witness. It seems he doesn’t want him to speak.”

Kane turned his dark-eyed gaze on Abby. “On the contrary, Counselor Griffin. I’m looking forward to hearing what he has to say.”

“Then perhaps you would allow him to speak, instead of making us all listen to the sound of your own voice.” Abby sat back down, folding her arms in front of her chest, and arched her eyebrow at Kane.

Kane moved towards her, put his hands on the table in front of her. The woody scent of his expensive cologne wafted over her. “I’d much rather listen to you, Counselor, but I’m afraid I’m about to render you speechless.” He smirked, then turned away before Abby could reply. Bastard!

“That will do both of you”, said the judge. “The objection is sustained. Please ask a question, Mr Kane, and allow the witness to answer.”

“Yes, Your Honour. Detective Saunders, were you responsible for the chain of custody of the gun from the moment it was allegedly found in my client’s vicinity, to the moment it entered the evidence locker at the fourteenth precinct?”

“I was.”

“And at no point did that gun leave your sight?”

“No, Sir.” Saunders glanced at Abby and she gave him a reassuring nod, although she felt far from reassured herself. What did Kane know that was going to render her speechless?

“May I draw your attention to photo evidence number NYMN306402.” Kane clicked a button and a photograph from the crime scene came up on the screen. “I have paper copies here so that you can examine it closely.” He passed one to Detective Saunders, then walked across to Abby’s table, slid one across the polished wood towards her with a wink.

What the hell was he doing? Abby had seen this photograph dozens of times. There was nothing special about it.

“Do you recognise this photograph?” Kane said to the detective.

“I do, yes.”

“What does it depict?”

“It shows the crime scene after we arrested your client for the brutal murder of his wife.”

“Thank you for the commentary,” said Kane. “However, we are not here to listen to your misinformed opinion about my client’s guilt. What do you see in the photo? I’ll give you a moment to examine it.”

Detective Saunders bent his head over the picture, looked at it closely. Abby did the same. It showed the bloody aftermath of the crime, the body lying splayed on the living room floor of the house she shared with the defendant, Luca Romano, the chaos of broken ornaments and vases scattered around the room, the blood mingled with the flower water, bright red and congealing. The gun wasn’t next to the body because this was after it had been collected and given to Detective Saunders, who was in the background talking to a colleague. Oh! Oh, fuck! Abby brought the photo closer. Goddamn it! Detective Saunders had been captured mid conversation, his hands in the air as he gesticulated. There was no sign of the evidence bag in his hands. Abby scanned the photo again. It wasn’t there.

She looked up to see Kane watching her, a sly smile on his face. She knew she’d turned red because she could feel the heat in her cheeks. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

“Have you noticed anything, Detective Saunders?” said Kane, turning back to the witness.

“No, Sir.”

“I see. I think the prosecution has seen something, though, judging by the look on her face.”

The eyes of everyone in the courtroom fell on Abby. She tried to keep her expression neutral but there was no hiding the blush on her cheeks. She could kill Kane. This wasn’t the first time he’d humiliated her in court; he seemed to take pleasure in it. He was a sociopath, she was convinced.

“Would you like to tell the court what you’ve seen, Counselor?” said Kane.

“Objection!” said Abby. “The defence is...” she trailed off. What was she going to say? The defence is being mean, rude, unfair, teasing? It was his job.

“It is not the job of the prosecution to do your job for you, Mr Kane,” said the judge. “I’m sure you know the correct procedures.”

“I do, Your Honour, I’m sorry.” said Kane, making a slight bow in the direction of the judge. “Detective Saunders. You said a moment ago that you were responsible for the custody of the gun from the moment you collected it to the moment that it entered the evidence locker of the NYPD. You never let it out of your possession.”

“Yes,” said Saunders slowly, his own cheeks growing red. Abby thought he knew he must have made a mistake, even if he didn’t know what it was.

“If you never let the gun out of your possession, where is it in this picture?”

Saunders looked again at the photo, his skin colour changing from red to white.

Abby had to hand it to Kane. He’d used the word sight before, and had now changed it to possession, but she couldn’t object because that would then be admitting that it wasn’t always in Saunders’ possession and the outcome would be the same. He’d got her over a barrel.

“It’s not in the picture,” said Saunders quietly.

“I’m sorry. Could you repeat that? I turned forty a couple of weeks ago; my hearing’s not what it was.”

The court laughed at Kane’s remark, and he gave them a knowing look as though he was sharing a confidence with them. Abby rolled her eyes.

“I said it’s not in the picture,” said Saunders, a resigned look on his face.

“No, it is not. Always in your sight, you said, and yet clearly, that is a lie.”

“It’s not a lie!” said Saunders. “I had placed it on a table right next to me, but you can’t see it; it’s out of shot.”

“Is it? Because I can’t see it in any of the other crime scene photos I’ve examined.” said Kane. “Is the jury supposed to take your word for that?”

“Yes! I’m a detective in the NYPD!”

“And NYPD detectives never lie or make mistakes, I suppose.”

Kane walked in front of the jury as he said this. Abby couldn’t see his expression, but she could imagine it. He would be pulling a disbelieving face, drawing them in to a conspiracy with him about the trustworthiness of the police. Only a month ago there’d been a widely reported incident of police corruption at the third precinct. The jurors would have read that just before they were called to jury duty. God, he was good; she had to give him that.

“I have no further questions for this witness,” said Kane, and he returned to his table, sat in his chair with his arms folded and his long legs stretched out to the side.

“Do you have any questions for your witness, Counselor?” said the judge.

“I do, Your Honour.” Abby stood, walked over to the witness box and stood in front of it so she could look Saunders directly in the eye and encourage him.

“Detective Saunders, where was the gun when you first saw it?”

“It was on the floor next to the body. The defendant was standing over it.”

“Are you saying that when you arrived at the crime scene, the defendant, Luca Romano, was standing over the mutilated body of his wife, next to the gun that killed her?” She expected Kane to object to her language as being prejudicial, but he didn’t. He sat smiling at her, as though Abby was there for his own amusement, which she suspected she was.

“That’s correct.”

“What happened then?”

“The scene was photographed by crime scene techs, who collected the gun and bagged it and gave it to me.”

“And you kept it in your sight at all times.”

“I did, yes.”

“The defence has shown you a photograph where the gun is clearly not in your hands. What do you say to that?”

“The gun was on a table next to me. I placed it there because I was talking to my colleague and I nearly dropped it. I didn’t want to damage the evidence so I placed it on a table. It was never out of my sight.”

“Your Honour, may we approach the bench?” said Kane.

“You may.”

Abby was already near the judge so she stayed where she was and waited for Kane to arrive. What was he up to now?

“Your Honour, I move to strike the gun evidence from the record. It is clearly tainted,” he said.

“It is NOT tainted!” said Abby, shocked at Kane’s proposal. It was one thing to argue its validity, another entirely to try and get it excluded. It was the only direct evidence she had. “The defendant’s fingerprints are all over that gun.”

“My chambers, please,” said the judge.

Abby and Kane followed the judge into the anteroom behind the court.

“Your Honour!” said Abby. “This is a blatant attempt by the defence to circumnavigate due process.”

“Your Honour, the prosecution’s case rests on the gun evidence. They cannot prove the sanctity of the chain of custody. The gun was not in the possession of the detective at all times as he stated. Anyone could have tampered with it.”

“That’s a lie and you know it!” said Abby, her frustration and fear getting the better of her. “Romano was standing over the body! He had the gun in front of him! His fingerprints were on it!”

“All of that is irrelevant if you can’t prove that the chain of custody was intact. The fingerprints on the gun could have been placed there by anybody while it was out of sight of the detective.”

“It was never out of his sight!” shouted Abby. “Your client killed his wife with that gun!”

Kane held his hands in the air in a what can you do gesture. Abby wanted to hit him. The feeling was so strong she actually clenched her fists. Kane noticed, and smirked.

“Mr Kane is right,” said the judge. “The chain of custody is compromised. I am ruling the gun inadmissible, and any evidence that follows from that is fruit from the poisoned tree.”

“Your Honour!” said Abby.

“That is my ruling. You would do well to accept it, Counselor.”

“Yes, Your Honour,” said Abby, defeated.

Kane sighed with satisfaction and smiled at Abby. She glared in return.

“This isn’t the end,” she said.

“Oh, I think it is,” he replied and then he strolled out of chambers, his head held high.

\---

Kane clinked his glass against those of his team and took a large draft of the bourbon before sitting back in his chair. They were in the Whiskey Tavern where they always went after they’d won a case. It was a short walk from the courts, and more importantly, only a short stumble from his loft in the Sugar Loaf Building on Franklin Street in Tribeca.

“Great job, Sir,” said one of his minions. Kyle, or Craig or something like that. A suck-up if ever there was one. Kane couldn’t stand him, but he was good at his job, so he was useful. The minute he wasn’t, he’d be gone.

“It was easy in the end,” he said, which was underselling the amount of work he’d put into uncovering the flaw in the prosecution’s case considerably, but Kane liked people to think everything he did was second nature. It made everyone else who struggled feel inferior, and that suited him, not because he liked to belittle people, but because he wanted to be at the top of his profession, the go-to person for those with money who were in trouble, and inspiring confidence was the key to his success.

“Her face, when she realised what you’d found,” giggled one of his junior associates.

“She’s Counselor Griffin to you,” Kane growled, ignoring the looks that passed between his staff. “She’d eat you all for breakfast and still have room for more.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Always respect your opponents. The minute you lose respect, you let your guard down, and you’re done for.” He finished his bourbon, pointed to his glass, and Kyle/Craig/Whatever, got up to go to the bar and get him another one.

There was a commotion at the entrance to the tavern, and Kane turned to see what all the fuss was about. His client, Luca Romano, had entered the building. Kane fixed a smile to his face. They always wanted to come and celebrate with him, fooling themselves into thinking they were friends and he’d defended them out of the goodness of his heart, instead of for the enormous amounts of money they were paying him. Did they honestly think he thought they were innocent?

“Marcus, Marcus,” said Romano, as he headed towards Kane followed by a posse of squat men in ill-fitting suits. Kane stood so he could be clapped on the back by his wife-murdering client.

“Congratulations, Luca,” he said.

“The congratulations are all for you, my friend. They said you were a genius, and you are!”

Kane wasn’t sure who ‘they’ were, but he was well known amongst a certain class of people in New York Society, and word of mouth was everything in his line of work.

“Thank you. Can I get you a drink?” Kane motioned to Kyle, but Romano stayed his hand.

“They’re on me.” He directed one of his own minions who came back a moment later with a bottle of the most expensive bourbon and a tray of glasses.

Kane groaned internally when he saw the bottle. He wasn’t going to get rid of Romano easily, and his hangover in the morning would be a bitch. Oh, well. In for a penny. He took the glass Romano proffered and knocked it back. This had been a hard case with a lot of late and sleepless nights. He deserved to take a break.

Kane was two shots in when his opponent from the court case, Counselor Abby Griffin, walked in. She was with her young assistant, Reyes, and they both paused when they saw him and his entourage. Abby said something to Reyes and looked as though she was turning to leave, but Reyes nudged her in the back, and they moved to the bar, giving him caustic looks that would dissolve a heart that wasn’t as hard and stubborn as Kane’s.

“Counselor!” he said as Abby passed behind him. He raised his glass, but she didn’t turn back to acknowledge him. She’d be smarting from her defeat, pissed at him for humiliating her. Never mind. It was her own fault.

An hour and three more drinks later, Kane needed to use the restroom. On his way back, he saw Abby and Reyes still sitting at the bar. This was an opportunity not to be missed. He was tipsy, but felt in control of his faculties, so he decided to approach.

“Counselor Griffin,” he said, leaning on the bar next to her. She had her back to him and didn’t immediately turn. He saw her assistant’s eyebrows raise slightly and knew Abby must be pulling a face or rolling her eyes at him.

“Counselor Kane,” she said at last, turning slowly to face him.

She’d released her hair from its braid since the courtroom, and it hung in long golden-brown waves below her shoulders, framing her strong face and softening her somehow. Her suit was the same black one she always wore, though. Her white blouse was buttoned up more than in the courtroom. Had she unbuttoned it for him? To distract him. It hadn’t worked. He didn’t notice such things.

Liar.

Shut up.

He shook his head, cleared his throat. “No hard feelings, I hope,” he said.

“None at all,” she replied, giving him a smile that defined the word sarcastic. “The most devious man won.”

Reyes snorted, but Abby didn’t look at her. She had pinned Kane with her dark brown eyes like a cat with a mouse, and she wasn’t about to let him go easily.

“There was nothing devious about what I did. The evidence was there in plain sight for you as well as me. You didn’t bring your best game, Abby, and so you lost.”

“You twisted the truth.”

“I used what was presented to me. You thought you had an open and shut case, and you were lax. You’re better than that, and you know it.”

He was about to leave when she kicked out one of her long legs to stop him.

“Have you ever represented an innocent client?” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. Her righteous indignation irked him.

He leaned in so his head was mere inches from hers. “Have you ever prosecuted an innocent one?” he whispered.

“I presume everyone of your clients to be guilty,” she whispered back, her whisky-scented breath in his face. She smelled of butterscotch and vanilla and he imagined that’s how she’d taste. Either that, or the bitter taste of defeat. He smiled at his own joke.

“Is that funny?” she said.

“Hilarious. Do you know your problem?” he said.

“Oh, God,” said Reyes in the background. “Please don’t say you’re going to mansplain the law to us.”

Kane leaned around Abby and glared at Reyes. “I’m talking to the ADA,” he said.

“Please tell me what’s wrong with me,” said Abby, crossing her arms and smiling benevolently at him.

“You don’t have the balls to win,” he said, looking smugly at her.

“I definitely don’t have balls, Kane. You’ve got that part right.”

“I mean it,” said Kane, ignoring her joke. “You don’t have the killer instinct. You’re not ruthless enough.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“Being a woman has nothing to do with it. I’ve known women who would happily tie you up and torture you if it got them what they wanted.”

“I don’t want to hear about your sex life, Kane,” said Abby, causing Reyes to spit out her drink.

“You really are hilarious,” he said, and part of him meant it. He enjoyed sparring with her in the courtroom. She was the best the District Attorney had to offer. Not good enough to beat him, but close.

“Well, when you give me material like that.”

She took a sip of her drink, watching him above the rim of her glass. Something stirred deep within Kane, and he pushed it down. Maybe he’d had too much after all.

“My advice to you, is to be prepared to do whatever it takes, because when you come up against me again, that’s what I’ll be doing. Within the law, of course.”

“The letter of it, maybe; not the spirit.”

“The spirit is irrelevant.” He took her drink from her, sipped it, swirled the amber liquid around his mouth. “Aberlour,” he said. “Eighteen-year-old,” and then he handed the glass back to her and walked away. He didn’t look back, but he imagined her staring at him, full of outrage, frustration, and awe. He smiled.

He settled back into his seat and Romano nudged him. “Good looking woman,” he said, gesturing in Abby’s direction.

“Yes,” said Kane, because she was, there was no denying it. Not his type though.

“Have you been there?” Romano said, leering at Kane. Kane cringed at his crudeness but managed not to show it.

“That’s a nightmare I can do without,” he said.

“She’s dating her assistant,” said Kyle.

“What, the one she’s with now?” Kane looked over at Abby and Reyes. Their heads were close together as they talked. Reyes was attractive he supposed, if young. She must be half Abby’s age.

“No, the guy. The dark-skinned one. Rafael something.”

“Santiago?”

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s her junior.”

The men in the team smirked at each other. Kane ignored them. He knew the man vaguely; he hadn’t supported Abby on this case, but he’d worked with her in the past. He was young as well; at least ten, fifteen years younger than her. So, she wasn’t such a goody-two-shoes after all, dating her younger assistant. Interesting.

He settled in for a night of steady drinking. A woman he knew vaguely from the office came and draped herself over him. He indulged her, let her sit on his knee, give him wet kisses that did nothing for him. It was what people expected of him, but not what he wanted. When it came time to leave, he escorted her to the subway station, and then weaved his unsteady way to his building alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby's day off starts peacefully but ends badly

Abby sat on her roof terrace in the morning sun and flicked through the New York Law Journal. She had her Nicaraguan coffee, and a cherry and almond scone from Think Coffee a couple of blocks along from her townhouse, and all was right with her world. It was late September and New York was experiencing an Indian Summer, with long, hot days and cloudless blue skies. Greenwich Village had been quiet when she’d gone to the coffee shop, and she’d walked across Washington Square Park barely seeing another soul.

A month had passed since her humiliation at the hands of Counselor Kane, and she’d won two cases since then, not as high profile as the Luca Romano one, but they’d got her back in the good books with Pike, the District Attorney, and that was all that mattered.

She adjusted the red sunshade so it covered her, and stretched out on the lounger. She sipped her coffee, took a bite of her scone, and turned the page in the journal. A picture of Marcus Kane stared out at her, his dark hair shorter than when she’d seen him a month ago, the waves tamed and neat. His deep brown eyes seemed to be looking directly into her soul, and she held the magazine up in front of her face and moved it from side to side. His eyes followed her, making her shiver; it was unnerving.

He’d been presumptuous when she’d seen him in the bar after he’d won his case, giving her advice on how to be a better lawyer. The arrogance of the man. He’d been drunk, or well on his way, so Abby had taken it with a pinch of salt, amused more than anything else, but Raven had been outraged.

“That’s Kane,” Abby had said. “Thinks he’s God’s gift to the law profession.”

She could see it even in this picture. It was in the way he held his nose in the air so he was looking down on the photographer, and by extension everyone looking at the picture. His pose said I’m better than you. He _was_ better though; it couldn’t be denied, which made his arrogant condescension all the more annoying. He was the best, and he knew that everyone knew it. Abby stuck her tongue out at his picture. She was about to turn the page, because the last thing she wanted was him intruding on her peaceful day off, when something caught her eye in the article. Her name.

“ADA Griffin is an excellent lawyer; the best the City of New York has to offer,” he was quoted as saying. “She’s also a symbol of everything that is wrong with the District Attorney’s office.”

Abby’s chest tightened. What the hell?

“Prosecutors like Griffin feel they have a divine right to win their cases, and that they don’t have to be held to the same burden of proof as us poor defence lawyers. She believes people are presumed guilty until proven innocent, she said this to me herself, which of course is the opposite of what the judicial system in this country is about. The DA’s office is annoyed when I win, because they believe I get guilty people off, but it is better to have a thousand guilty people go free, than to have one innocent person convicted. My job is to hold them to account, to force them to bring their A-game. The better I am, the better they have to be, and justice in New York is the winner.”

Abby threw down the magazine in disgust. The goddamned arrogance of the man! How dare he rip her apart in public like that? And she’d never said she believed people were presumed guilty. She’d said she presumed his clients were, but that was because they always were! He'd twisted her words! It was his specialty. She should have known. She’d thought he was drunk and amusing, and she’d let her guard down, done EXACTLY what he’d accused her of that night, being lax, not being at her best. He wasn’t a man to be trusted, and she’d forgotten that and now she was paying the price. Again! She put her head in her hands, breathed deeply. Every lawyer she knew read this journal, and all the judges. He’d maligned her reputation. Goddamned bastard!

She wasn’t going to let this lie. She was going to speak to him, demand he publish a retraction. She picked up her phone to call Raven to find his number, and noticed she’d had a couple of texts. She hadn’t heard them arrive because the phone was on mute.

_Abby. I’m sorry about what I said the other week, and what I did. How long are you going to keep punishing me? I miss you. Rafa xx_

_Abby, I know I hurt you, but you’re freezing me out. It’s not fair to refuse to work with me. It’s an abuse of your position. Rafael_

The last sentence of the second text sent shockwaves through her. It was a threat, unmistakably. There was an hour between the two texts. He must have worked himself up because she hadn’t replied straight away. What was it with men and their egos? She’d had enough of them all.

_Don’t you dare threaten me! I’m not the one in the wrong. You know what you did._

She hit send before she could talk herself out of it, then she switched off her phone so she wouldn’t have to read his answer today. She wanted one day to herself, just one day of peace and quiet and nothing but her and the butterflies that were hunting amongst the potted flowers on the wooden deck. She couldn’t read the journal without thinking about Kane, and she couldn’t browse the internet on her phone without seeing Rafael’s texts, so she sat quietly, closed her eyes, and tried not to think.

That resolve lasted no more than five minutes. All she could think about was Rafael, and the disaster their brief relationship had been. She never should have dated him. He was far too young and immature, but she hadn’t realised that until it was too late. It had started out as a drunken kiss after a difficult case and that’s where it should have ended, but she hadn’t dated in such a long time, and he’d been attentive, and caring, and he’d made her feel good, so she’d seen him a few times, which had been a mistake. He’d felt more for her than she had for him and wasn’t emotionally mature enough to cope when she’d ended it. He’d said some unpleasant things, and she thought she’d had a lucky escape.

She got up, took her coffee and the remains of her scone and went inside. She’d quiet her mind by cooking something complicated for her dinner. That would pass the time. As she entered the kitchen the video entry system was buzzing as though someone had their finger pressed permanently to it. She looked at her phone, which usually alerted her if someone was at the door when she was up on the terrace, but of course it was switched off. She went to the intercom, looked to see who it was. It was Rafael. Damn. She hesitated, not wanting to let him in or even speak to him after the last text he’d sent, but she could see he was shouting into the intercom and would be disturbing her neighbours. She pressed the button.

“Yes?” she said.

“Abby. I knew you were in. I need to speak to you.”

“I don’t want to speak to you, Rafael. I asked you to give me some space, but you’ve continued to harass me.”

“I’m not harassing you. This is the only way I can get to speak to you.”

He didn’t see the irony in that statement. Abby sighed.

“Please, Abby. I just want to apologise for what I did and said.” He smiled at the camera, which transformed his face into the one she’d liked and thought was warm and funny. He wasn’t going to go away if she didn’t speak to him. She had to face it; no more hiding.

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

She was barely dressed in a thin vest and shorts because it was hot, and she hadn’t been expecting company, so she grabbed a cardigan from the back of the sofa and covered herself with it as she went down the stairs to the entrance hall. She opened the door and stood on the threshold with her arms folded across her chest.

“Please go ahead,” she said, fixing him with what she hoped was a neutral stare.

“It’s good to see you, Abby,” Rafael said, and he moved towards her, held his hand out as if to stroke her arm.

Abby stepped to the side. “I’m busy, Rafael. Please just say what you’ve come to say and then we can both get on.”

“Is there someone with you?” he said, looking past her into the house.

Abby stepped across the threshold, let the door close behind her. She didn’t want him barging in or she’d never get rid of him. “No. I’m working.”

“Another case you’re working without me,” he said in a sulky voice. His pleasantness hadn’t lasted long.

“Not working together hasn’t been my decision,” she said. “It’s just the way the dockets have fallen. Raven was available and you weren’t.”

“Bullshit!” he said, too vehemently for Abby’s comfort. “You’ve had your fun and now you want to get rid of me, so you’re cutting my case load.”

“I don’t assign the cases as you know.”

He shook his head, leaned his hand against the wall close to her. Abby couldn’t step back because the door was behind her, and she couldn’t go forwards without pressing into him. Her townhouse was hidden from the street by trees, so it was hard for anyone passing to see her, not that there were many people moving around on this baking hot day. She’d trapped herself, because she hadn’t thought the conversation would go like this. Too trusting again.

“It’s wrong what you’re doing,” he said, leaning closer to her, his voice low.

“I’m not doing anything.” Abby tried to stand as straight as possible, look confident and in control, which was difficult when she was nearly a foot shorter than Rafael, and half his weight.

“You’ve abused your position to get what you wanted from me.”

“We only went on a few dates!” said Abby, whose fear was turning to anger at the ridiculousness of this situation.

“It was more than that and you know it. I thought we had something special but you were using me.”

Abby sighed with frustration. “We had a few dates, and it wasn’t working out. You need to accept that and move on.”

Rafael shook his head. “You haven’t even given us a proper chance, Abby. We could be great together. You’re so hot.” He reached out and stroked her hair, and Abby lifted her hand to move his away. That caused her cardigan to gape open, and Rafael looked down at her breasts. “Look at you,” he said, and his hand moved towards her. Abby managed to pull her cardigan back together before he could touch her.

“I’m going to go back in now and get on with my work. I suggest you go home and think about all of this.”

He was so close to her now the only way she could get back into her house was to push him out of her way to make room. “Excuse me,” she said, but he didn’t move, so she pushed him, and he grabbed her arm, pulled her to him. His lips were on hers before she could react, his kiss bruising. He held her face with his other hand, tried to force his tongue into her mouth but she resisted. His grip on her arm tightened, and she struggled against him, fear coursing through her. She managed to scratch his cheek, and he pulled away, putting his hand to his face in surprise.

“How dare you! How dare you touch me!” Abby yelled, and he stumbled away.

“Your boss is going to hear about this,” Rafael shouted. “You’ve assaulted me.”

“I’ve assaulted you! Get out! You’re finished!” She fumbled the door open and ran inside, slamming it shut behind her.

She looked at the video monitor, watched as he stood staring at the house for a long moment, rubbing his cheek, and then he turned and walked down the path. She stood for ages, her eyes glued to the screen, making sure he didn’t return, and then she slumped to the floor with her head in her hands. She started shaking uncontrollably, and her heart was racing. Her mouth felt bruised where he’d kissed her, and when she touched her lips they were swollen. Goddamn bastard!

When the shaking had subsided, she stood on wobbly legs and went up to the second floor and into the kitchen. She made herself a jasmine green tea and took it into the living room. She didn’t feel like cooking or doing anything now; her day was completely ruined. She curled up on the sofa and flicked on the TV. There was a repeat of some singing contest which she would never normally watch but it was the kind of mind-numbing thing she needed to take her mind off what had just happened. It didn’t work, though, and she found herself going over and over what she’d done and said, wondering what she could have done differently, how she could have defused the situation.

The more she thought about it, the more angry she became; angry, and ashamed, because she’d let him get the better of her, and she’d felt so helpless when he had her in his grasp and there was nothing she could do about it. She was a clever, quick-witted woman who took no crap, but none of that meant anything when she was faced with someone physically stronger than her. It was humiliating.

What was she going to do at work? How was she going to defend herself against his accusations? This could be the end of her career. Dating a younger colleague; it was frowned upon even though everybody did it. Hell, everyone was screwing each other all the time and always had been. Everyone except her. This was the first time she’d done anything remotely like this, and it was only because she’d been vulnerable when they’d had that first kiss, it being the anniversary. It was a few dates that’s all. A movie, a couple of shows, dinner afterwards, a walk in the park. She’d wanted romantic, old-fashioned, but he’d obviously wanted more. Fuck!

She should get ahead of this, tell Pike before Rafael could, but the thought of having to admit to being attacked and threatened in her own home, of not being able to stand up for herself was too much. She would never be taken seriously in court again. She should wait, see what he had to say first. Maybe his behaviour had shocked him and once he’d calmed down he would realise how silly this all was and get a grip on himself. She could never work with him again, but she could pass him to another ADA, a man, and no one would be any the wiser.

Even as she had these thoughts Abby hated herself for them. She should stand up to him, stand up for other women who’d been in this situation, or who might be again. What if he did this all the time? What if he was a serial stalker? She might not be the only victim. There might be others, in the past, or the future.

Victim. God, she hated that word. She wasn’t a victim. Didn’t want to be a victim. What a mess! She had to say something; she owed it to herself and to any future subjects of his obsessive nature. She had court all day tomorrow. She’d speak to Pike after that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane has a better day than Abby, and has an unexpected visitor.

Kane’s day started out lazily like Abby’s. He had breakfast in Gotan a short walk from his loft, washing down his eggs over easy with a macchiato. It was Sunday, and the city was hotter than hell for late September. He would have breakfasted outside but the coffee shop sat on one of the busiest junctions in Tribeca and he couldn’t bear the fumes from all the traffic. One of the many downsides of being raised in the relative countryside of Ithaca was getting used to breathing clean air. Not a downside for most, but for Kane it made living in the city uncomfortable, even after fifteen years. He could afford to live somewhere less polluted, if he really wanted to, but he liked being close to work, and his favourite bars and clubs were on his doorstep.

He lingered in the coffee shop longer than usual. The article he’d written about the failing New York justice system had been published in the New York Law Journal and he was taking his time reading it. A professional photographer from the journal had taken his picture and he was pleased with the result. He’d had his hair cut specially and was wearing a beautiful blue Armani suit. They’d cropped most of that out, though, choosing to focus on his face. It was an extreme close-up, and he examined it forensically. He thought he looked good.

He’d turned forty a few weeks before, an event that hadn’t been as traumatic in the end as he’d imagined, mainly because he’d ignored it. His mother had tried to persuade him to go to Ithaca for a party in his honour, but he’d refused citing too much work, which was true. He’d been in the middle of the Romano case, and that had provided the perfect excuse. He’d celebrated his milestone birthday by getting one of Abby Griffin’s witness statements struck from the record, and that had been good enough for him.

Speaking of the ADA, he wondered if she’d seen the article yet. She wouldn’t be happy about his comments regarding her, but it was Kane’s mission to raise the quality of the District Attorney’s office, and he wanted to start a conversation about it. Being polite and friendly and letting things slide didn’t get results. You needed to shake things up, drop a few bombs here and there. Abby could hold her own. His comments wouldn’t bother her too much he was sure.

He hadn’t had any irate calls from her yet, so perhaps she was still in bed. Probably with that young man she was dating. What was that about? She was a closed book, but he knew more about her than she probably thought he did. It was part of his modus operandi to learn as much about his opponents as he could. That way he could anticipate their moves and be prepared for them. She was pushing forty too, had been single a long time, like Kane. Maybe she wanted to feel young again and dating a younger guy helped her with that. Kane couldn’t relate. Young people today were stupid in his experience, and youth and vigour were wasted on them. He couldn’t imagine dating one or living with one. He’d much rather be with someone his own age, but he hadn’t met anyone who could live up to his exacting standards, and he didn’t want to settle.

His love life consisted of an endless string of disappointing dates, infrequent and often equally disappointing sex, and frustration. He had his career, thank God. His work was his mistress, and most of the time he was fine with that. Speaking of work, he had a new case to prepare for, and a list of jobs to tick off before the Yankees’ game at three. He picked up a six pack of beer and some chips from the deli on his way back to his loft.

He entered his apartment with his usual feeling of pride. He’d fought hard to obtain it. There were only ten apartments in the building, and they came to market as often as he lost cases, so they were rare. He’d beat off a lot of stiff competition to buy it two years ago, including a pop star and a couple of famous actors. It had four bedrooms and three baths, not that he needed that many, but the best thing about it was the huge open plan living space with its windows on two sides, brick walls and exposed wooden beams. He was a hugely private man, but he liked that everything in his home was visible, stripped back to its core. It was a window into the heart of him, for those few who had been invited, which was a handful at most. He’d only brought one woman here, and that hadn’t lasted.

He put the beers in the refrigerator for later and went into his bedroom to change out of his pants. He decided against wearing jeans or sweats. It was too hot. He removed his socks and returned to the living room dressed only in a grey t-shirt and black boxers. He lay on the sofa surrounded by files and books of case law and got to work. He must have drifted to sleep at some point because he was woken by the intercom buzzing. He stretched, and a pile of books slid off his lap and onto the floor with a bang. He picked them up, put them on the coffee table. He padded over to the intercom. Who the hell was calling on him on a Sunday, or any day for that matter? He looked at the video and his heart sank. It was his uncle Frank. What the hell was he doing here? Oh, the game. Kane checked his watch. It was two-thirty, and the game started in half an hour. Frank only ever visited when he’d been kicked out of his apartment by his long-suffering wife and the game was on. He was too cheap to go to a bar and pay for a drink while he watched it, so he patronised Kane instead.

“Hello?” said Kane, as though he didn’t know who it was. It was only delaying the inevitable, but every second he had left alone was precious.

“It’s me. It’s Frank. Your Uncle. Frank,” he said in the nasal Brooklyn accent he’d never lost, and which betrayed his Italian-American heritage. Frank was his mother’s brother, but whereas Vera had dragged her family out of the city and upstate, Frank had never left.

“How can I help you, Frank?” said Kane.

“I was passing. Thought I’d check on my favourite nephew.”

“I’m your only nephew,” said Kane.

“And definitely my favourite,” replied Frank.

Kane depressed the speaker button so he could let out a deep sigh that Frank couldn’t hear, then he pressed it again. “Come up.”

He left the door open for Frank, clicked the TV on, then he got a couple of beers out of the fridge and emptied the chips into a bowl. He was putting them on the coffee table when Frank entered.

“How you doin’, son?” he said as he gave Kane a bear hug. He feigned surprise when he saw the snacks and the baseball on the TV. “Is there a game on today?”

“I’m fine, thank you, and yes, funnily enough, the Yankees are playing.”

“I didn’t know,” said Frank with a twinkly smile. He looked Kane up and down, noticing his lack of clothes. “Where’s yer clothes, son? They at the laundry?”

“Yes, every item I own is at the dry cleaners.” Kane sat on the sofa next to his uncle and clicked his bottle of beer against his. “Cheers,” he said.

“C’mon Yankees!” said Frank, and he took a draft of his beer so large the bottle was half empty when he put it down. Kane could see his six-pack disappearing quickly.

“’Member when we used to play stickball, Marcus, eh? When you were a lad. Used my stoop as base.”

“Vaguely.” Kane had been ten when his family had relocated upstate to Ithaca, and most of his memories had been from that time. He’d never really understood why they’d left Brooklyn. His parents had run a legal aid firm and never had much money, but they’d always talked about their time in the borough fondly.

“You were a scrawny kid,” said Frank. “Couldn’t catch a ball if yer life depended on it. I got yer Aunt Marie to make you a mitt twice the size of a normal one and you still missed the ball every time.”

“You did not!” said Kane, outraged at the slur on his abilities. He wasn’t a natural athlete, but he didn’t remember being that bad.

“No, I didn’t.” Frank laughed, winked at Kane as he took a handful of chips. “Gotcha there.”

“Bastard,” said Kane, smiling in spite of himself.

“Do you kiss yer mother with that mouth?”

“Not if I can help it.” Kane grinned, and settled back into the sofa, beer in hand.

“Betcha kissin’ lots of other ladies though eh, son?”

“One or two,” replied Kane, trotting out his usual response.

“One or two,” snorted Frank. “A ladies’ man like yer uncle.”

“You’re a married man.”

“Doesn’t stop me looking, though. Are you kidding me with that?” he shouted at the pitcher on the TV.

“Is that why Marie has kicked you out again? You’ve been caught doing more than looking.”

Frank sniffed. “Nah. The spirit’s willing but the body doesn’t get the message. I need scaffolding these days just to get it up.”

Kane was taking a sip of his beer as Frank said that and he sprayed it out as he laughed.

“You can laugh, boy, but it’ll happen to you one day.”

Kane thought he’d be happy to have someone he needed scaffolding to get it up for. He could hardly remember the last time he’d got it up for anyone outside of his imagination. He didn’t say that to Frank, though.

“Look at the state of that throwing arm. Who throws like that?” said Frank, glaring at the TV. “Get me another beer will ya, son.”

Kane got his uncle another beer and tried to tune him out so he could enjoy the game without the constant commentary.

“Were you getting any dinner, son?” said Frank when the game was over. He’d drunk four of Kane’s beers and was now on a whisky. Kane could envisage having to put one of his spare bedrooms to use at this rate.

“I could order pizza,” he said, resigning himself to his fate.

“You’re a good boy. Make it a large.”

Kane ordered the pizza and called his aunt Marie who told him she’d kicked Frank out this time because he’d set the kitchen on fire while drunkenly trying to cook fries. Kane sent up a silent prayer that his beautiful loft would survive an overnight stay from his wayward uncle.

“How’s the lawyering business, then?” said Frank as they ate their slices.

“Pretty good, as you can see.”

“I read about yer latest case. That Romano guy.”

“Oh, yeah? It made all the papers, and the TV stations,” said Kane proudly.

“He did it, though, right?” said Frank, looking at Kane as he sipped yet another whisky.

“He was found innocent, Frank,” replied Kane.

“Hmm, yeah, but he did it. I knew him back in the day. He’s always been a wrong ‘un.”

“You know him?” This was a surprise to Kane. New York wasn’t exactly a small place, and Frank had been a mechanic, hardly likely to mix with a property magnet like Romano, who’d been rich since he was born.

“You tell him Frank Morano says hi next time you see him. On second thoughts... don’t.”

Kane sincerely hoped he would never see the wife murderer again, but he was intrigued about his uncle’s relationship with him. He added more whisky to his glass, and Frank took a swig, smiling at Kane.

“Thanks, son.”

“You’re welcome. Help yourself,” he said. He ate another slice while he contemplated Frank. “How come you know Romano?”

“I used to do a few things for him. You know, hush hush.” He tapped the side of his nose and winked at Kane.

“Like what?”

“Things, you know. Like what we did back then.”

Things they did back then? What was Frank talking about? Romano was a realtor. Frank was a mechanic. Did he service his cars or something?

“You worked on his cars?”

“What? No. I drove him sometimes, when he needed some muscle.”

A most unwelcome penny dropped in Kane’s mind. Surely not! “Are you saying he was involved with the mob?”

Frank sniffed, drank more whisky, and burped. He sat back in his chair with his hands on his belly. “I’m saying he WAS the mob. I assumed you knew, working with him and all.”

“Well there are rumours, but I figured it was the usual thing that comes with being an Italian-American of a certain age. People jump to conclusions. I never found any evidence in my research on him.”

“You won’t find evidence, boy. What do you take him for? He learned his trade from the best. Second generation, like me and your mom.”

“You’re not saying mom’s in the mob, are you?” said Kane, only half joking, because inside he was reeling at this revelation.

“No, but that’s why she got you all outa here. Cos of me.” He got up on unsteady legs. “I’m gonna use the men’s room,” he said, and he wobbled out of the living room.

Kane was astonished at what his uncle had told him. He’d always assumed they’d left Brooklyn because his parents wanted a better life. They’d moved to a hippy commune in Ithaca and set up a legal practice there. Kane had hated it; hated them for taking him out of the city and away from the few friends he had. All this time they’d been running from the mob? What the actual hell? His mother knew he’d been working for Romano and hadn’t said a word. Did Romano know who Kane was? Did he know the family connection? Was that why he’d picked him to represent him? Surely he would have said something. It had to be a coincidence.

Some time passed before he realised that Frank hadn’t returned. Fearing for his apartment, Kane went to the bathroom and knocked on the door. There was no answer. He pushed open the door and it snagged on something. When he poked his head around it he saw it was Frank’s prone body. Oh, fuck! What had he done?

Kane forced the door open and knelt by his uncle’s side. The man was snoring heavily. Kane checked him for injury but there was nothing. He must have fallen into a drunken sleep on the floor of the bathroom, his fly open and his shrunken old dick hanging out. Jesus Christ! Kane tried to wake him but he seemed to be out for the count. He dragged his body to the spare room next door and managed to lift it onto the bed. He removed his shoes and his pants, tucked his penis back into his underpants with hands that he didn’t think would be able to touch anything ever again, and then turned his uncle on his side, keeping him in position with a pillow at his back. If he was sick, at least he wouldn’t choke on it.

“Thanks, son,” mumbled Frank, and Kane shook his head, before closing the door and returning to the living room. He ran his hands under the kitchen tap for a long time, cleaning them obsessively with antiseptic handwash.

He tidied the empty bottles and the pizza carton away and sat on the sofa. He picked up his notepad from earlier, meaning to get back to work, but all he could think about was his uncle Frank, Luca Romano, his mother and the mob. To him the mob had been like an urban legend, something from history that was exciting when you were a young boy, but nothing to do with real life. Rumours had flown around the dirty streets of Brooklyn where he’d played, but he’d been too young to pay much attention to them. Then of course he’d left with his mom and dad and his world became hippies and do-gooders and people who were too stoned to make sense. To his knowledge he’d never defended anyone with mob connections, until now. It was historical, though, he assumed. Wasn’t it?

He'd never felt threatened by Romano, not in a physical way. The man was exacting and demanding but Kane was used to that. Maybe his uncle was making it up, trying to look important in his hotshot nephew’s eyes. That could be it.

Kane picked up the phone and called his aunt Marie again.

“Is that you, Frank?” she said by way of greeting.

“No, it’s Marcus, Aunt Marie. Frank is still with me.”

“Marcus, love. Is he causing you trouble? You send him back to me, put him in a cab.”

“That might be difficult. He’s passed out in my spare room.”

“That man! I don’t know what to do with him. Shoulda left him a long time ago. Coglione!”

Kane had heard that insult directed at Frank many times. The politest translation was asshole. He couldn’t disagree. “It’s okay. He’s fine.”

“You’re a good man, Marcus. Your mother raised you right, like she was raised. How Frank turned out the way he has I don’t know.”

Kane saw an opportunity to ask her what he really wanted to know, and the true reason for his call. “I guess I was lucky to be raised outside of Brooklyn. I’ve often wondered how that happened, why mom and dad left. I mean you were close, right? It must have been a wrench for you?”

“Yes of course, I mean you know me and Frank never had any children, so you were like a son to us. It was hard when you left.”

“Why did they do it, then?”

“You know why. They wanted a better life for you.”

“Nothing to do with Frank, then, or anything he was doing?”

There was silence on the phone for a moment. “Why do you ask that? What’s he been saying to you?”

“Nothing much. He was just talking about the past.”

“The past is best left alone, Marcus, you hear me. He’s a silly old man anyway. Don’t listen to anything he has to say. Drunken old fool.”

Her tone was defensive, her voice tight. There was something, but she didn’t want to tell Kane about it. He decided not to push it. There were other ways of finding out, if that was what he wanted to do.

“The drunken old fool will be spending the night with me,” said Kane. “I’ll put him in a cab to you tomorrow.”

Marie made a noise as though she was clearing something unpleasant from her throat. “Thanks, I guess. Do it first thing, Marcus. Don’t leave him alone in your apartment.”

“I won’t. Night, Marie.”

Kane put down the phone then stretched his legs out on the sofa. This had turned out to be a most interesting day. He was intrigued now about his past, desperate to find out more. Maybe a trip to Ithaca wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all. Say hi to his mom, use his persuasive charms to make her tell him what he wanted to know. He’d take a long weekend, maybe next week if he could get on top of this case. Upstate New York in the Fall. He was due a visit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby is surprised in court, and Kane is surprised in his office.

Abby was up early the following day after a fitful night spent mostly awake and obsessively going over what had happened with Rafael. She knew she had to tell Pike everything, but the thought made her sick to her stomach. She couldn’t eat anything, and even her coffee tasted bitter. She threw half of it away. She showered and dressed in her black suit. She wore the most buttoned up shirt she had, a red one with black stripes, and kept her jacket fastened, even though it was still hot. She was sweating by the time she got to court.

Raven gave her a hard stare when Abby put her briefcase on the table.

“Are you okay? You look dreadful.”

“I’m fine,” said Abby.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Well, I am,” Abby snapped, and Raven frowned and then looked away, busying herself getting the papers she needed from her own briefcase.

Abby felt bad for snapping, but she was tired and on edge, and also self-conscious. She was wearing more make up than usual, because she’d noticed scratches on her face when she’d examined herself in the mirror that morning. Her lips were still swollen, and there was a dark purple mark on her bottom lip. She’d smothered her face in concealer and put a dark lipstick on rather than her usual light lip gloss, and felt like she stood out. People would probably think she’d had botox or some kind of lip filler, which she didn’t like the thought of, but that was at least better than them knowing the truth.

The judge entered the court and they all stood, and then Abby retook her seat while the court officials dealt with some administrative issues.

“Are you ready?” said Raven, looking at her apprehensively.

“As I’ll ever be,” said Abby, smiling as warmly as she could to make up for her earlier shortness.

Raven put her hand on Abby’s and squeezed it, and Abby nodded her appreciation.

The day went quickly, and close of business was looming. She had one more witness she hoped to call before the judge declared a recess for the day.

“I have one more witness if I may, Your Honour,” she said.

“You may.”

“Thank you. I’d like to call Sandra Newman,” said Abby, and watched as the old lady took her time hobbling to the stand. Abby took up a position in front of the witness box. Sandra was partially deaf and Abby had learned it was best to be facing her when she spoke so Sandra could lip read.

“Thank you for taking the time to come to court today. I...”

The sound of the doors to the courtroom bursting open made Abby look around. The court bailiff was heading down the aisle towards her, accompanied by three NYPD detectives and her boss, the District Attorney Charles Pike. All eyes were fixed on her. Her whole body went cold, and fear and adrenaline coursed through her veins. What the hell was going on? Had Rafael made a complaint? They wouldn’t deal with that here, though, when court was in session. It made no sense. They were coming for her, though, it was clear; their faces hard and serious. Fuck.

“Abigail Griffin,” said one of the detectives. “I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder.”

Everyone in the courtroom gasped as if one, including Abby.

“What?” she said. Her heart was beating out of her chest, and she felt hot and cold and sick to her stomach.

The detective grabbed her, and she thought instantly about Rafael grabbing her the day before, trying to force himself on her, and she panicked and struggled, tried to break free from the detective’s grasp. A second detective came to his aid, and they put her hands behind her back, snapped handcuffs on her. What the hell was happening?

“What the hell are you doing?” Raven jumped up and ran towards Abby, but Pike held her back. “Abby!” she cried.

“Pike,” said Abby. “What’s going on?”

Pike was grim-faced. “Just cooperate, Abby, and it will be okay.”

The detective marched her through the courtroom towards the door, reading her rights as he went.

“You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you at no cost. Do you understand these rights as I have told them to you?”

Abby looked around at all the shocked faces in the courtroom, including the judge and the defence lawyers. People were filming her on their cell phones. She was going to be all over the internet, and she had no idea what had happened. They were arresting her for murder! Who had been murdered? Why did they think she had done it?

“Do you understand these rights as I have told them to you?” said the detective again.

“Yes!” said Abby. She turned back towards Raven. “Raven, call my mom.” The girl nodded, got out her cell phone. “Where are you taking me?” Abby said to Pike.

“Let’s just get out of here with minimal fuss,” said Pike, a statement which made Abby laugh despite her circumstances. They’d arrested her in a courtroom in front of everybody. They couldn’t have created more fuss if they’d tried.

\---

Kane put his hungover uncle Frank into a cab first thing in the morning and walked the short distance to work in the sunshine. He stopped at Gotan and got them to fill his travel mug with a latte and picked up a slice of banana bread to have for his mid-morning snack. He was well-rested and was looking forward to the day ahead. He had trial prep most of the day and then a partner meeting, which he was hoping would turn into dinner at Landmarc because he had nothing in his cupboards and had been craving their filet mignon for days now.

He reached his building on Broadway and got the elevator up to the top floor. Kane, Miller & Sinclair occupied the top two floors of the prestigious building and was one of the top ten law firms in New York. Kane would like it to be THE top firm, but they weren’t big enough in size to handle the cases necessary. It was a deliberate choice to remain as they were. Kane liked to give the personal touch to his clients, and huge law firms had a tendency to become cold-hearted machines. He also believed in the adage the bigger you are the harder you fall. KM&S was controllable, and Kane liked to be in control.

“Morning, Harper,” he said to his assistant who was waiting to enter the elevator as he stepped out.

“Morning, Mr Kane. How are you today?”

“I’m good, thank you. Is Sinclair in?”

“Yes, about five minutes ago.”

“Thank you.” Kane walked to Sinclair’s office which was on the opposite side of the floor to his. Sinclair specialised in divorce and financial affairs and the more domestic side of the business. He was good at undercover surveillance, and that’s why Kane wanted to see him.

Sinclair was sitting in his chair behind his huge wooden desk that was out of keeping with their modern office. It was some family heirloom that went everywhere with him. His short, curly, salt and pepper head was bent over a magazine.

“Anything interesting?” said Kane as he approached.

Sinclair looked up. “Only some big-headed bastard saving the law as usual.” He grinned as he lifted the law journal and flipped the page so that Kane’s face was staring back at him.

“Good-looking devil,” said Kane, smiling.

“If you say so.”

Kane sat in the chair opposite Sinclair. “You got a lot on at the moment?”

“Don’t I always?”

“If people kept it in their pants we’d have no business.”

“And the world would be a boring place. What do you want?”

“A favour, for your only friend in the world.”

“It’s me that’s your only friend! What favour?”

“I want you to look into someone for me, just have a sniff about, see what you can find. Off the books, and very discrete.”

Sinclair sat forward, his elbows resting on the table so he could prop his chin up. “Interesting. Discrete eh? Is it a woman? Someone you’re interested in.”

“No, nothing like that. It’s my uncle, Francesco Morano. He was a mechanic in Brooklyn, had a garage in Bensonhurst back in the sixties and seventies. I think it was called Morano’s. He was quite a well-known figure.”

Sinclair made notes on his legal pad. “Am I looking for anything in particular?”

Kane tapped Sinclair’s desk with his fingertips. “Erm, just, I don’t know, anything that doesn’t feel right.”

“Dirty dealings, things like that?”

“Yes, who he associated with, anything he did that wasn’t officially recorded.”

“I get you; I think. Probably take a while if I have to do it under the radar.”

“That’s okay. There’s no rush. Just something I’m interested in. Family history and all that.”

“Right.” Sinclair looked wryly at Kane. He was suspicious probably, because Kane had never shown any interest in his family history before, and in fact did little except moan about his mom and his upbringing and how he’d dragged himself up by his bootstraps.

“I’ll buy dinner at Landmarc later,” said Kane as he got up to leave.

“You still owe me for the last favour I did for you. You’ll be buying me dinners for the rest of the year at this rate.”

“I can afford it,” said Kane smugly as he walked to the door.

“This article, by the way,” said Sinclair.

Kane turned, his hand on the door. “What about it?”

“I’d wear protection the next time you’re up against ADA Griffin. She’s going to want your balls for earrings.”

Kane grinned. “She can try.”

He walked across the floor to his own office. The floor to ceiling windows overlooked Broadway, and he spent a couple of minutes watching the hustle and bustle of the street before his associates arrived. He spent most of the day huddled in a corner of the room with them, preparing for the trial of a businessman accused of a DUI. The man had failed every sobriety test the police had given him and was clearly drunk in the bodycam footage. Kane thought he’d found a flaw in the equipment the officers had used to take the readings. He wasn’t keen on the idea of letting a drunk driver back on the streets, so he’d persuaded the man into rehab which would be good for everyone including the innocent citizens of New York.

At six o’clock he was preparing for the partners’ meeting when his office door burst open and Kyle came in waving a tablet in the air.

“What do you want?” said Kane, annoyed at the intrusion.

“Have you heard the news?” said a breathless Kyle.

“What news?” Kane’s heartrate picked up because Kyle was clearly excited so something big must have happened. He glanced out of the window, hoping there wasn’t some terrorist activity going on he hadn’t noticed because he was too engrossed in his work.

“About ADA Griffin!” Kyle’s eyes were so wide he looked like a kid overwhelmed by his Christmas presents.

“What about ADA Griffin?” Was this to do with his article? Was she suing him or something?

“She’s been arrested! For murder!” Kyle thrust the tablet in front of Kane and pressed play on a video.

Kane watched as a shaky hand filmed the ADA fighting an NYPD detective before being clapped in handcuffs and escorted out of the courtroom. She was yelling something about her mom. That prick DA Pike was in the background, holding back Abby’s assistant, Reyes. Abby was laughing as she was led away. What the fuck?

“Who has she allegedly murdered?” he said to Kyle.

“No one is saying officially, but rumour is she stabbed her boyfriend to death!”

Kane was astonished. In fact, astonished was too inadequate a word. He was dumbfounded, and bewildered. “That Santiago guy?”

“Yes! Can you believe it?”

“No,” said Kane, because he couldn’t. He didn’t know Abby Griffin well, but he had a lot of respect for her, despite his comments in the article. She was clever and hardworking, and he only got frustrated with her because he thought she could do better. She was hampered by the DA probably. Not allowed to shine. In her private life she was a bleeding-heart liberal do-gooder like his mother, doing pro bono work and legal aid. She was the last person in the whole of New York he would think capable of murder. If she’d done it, she must have been provoked.

“When did this happen?” he said to Kyle.

“About an hour ago. It’s all over everywhere!”

“Yes, I bet it is.” Kane shook his head, still disbelieving. Abby Griffin arrested for murder! He’d better buy a lottery ticket on his way to the restaurant, because clearly this was the day for the impossible to happen.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby experiences the New York justice system from the other side, and Kane has his evening plans interrupted.

Abby stood impatiently while she was processed by an evidence technician. The woman took her fingerprints by placing them in a handheld scanner, and then took a retinal scan with another machine. They were in a holding room somewhere in the basement of The Tombs, as Manhattan Central Booking was known to her and everyone in law enforcement. She’d been in here many times over the years, working with the police to interview suspects, and sometimes as a defence lawyer in her pro bono work. Never had she been on this side of the process, and it was bewildering and frightening. She’d been brought straight here from the courtroom and as it was only a short distance there’d been little time to ask questions, and the ones she had asked had gone unanswered. No one had spoken to her since her rights had been read.

There was a two-way mirror along one wall of the room, and Abby knew the detectives who’d arrested her would be behind it, probably with Pike and God knows who else, all watching as she was forensically scrutinized. She hoped she wasn’t going to be stripped and searched, but it was possible if she was being booked on a murder charge. The evidence tech was a blonde woman in her early twenties; Abby didn’t know her name, but she recognised her from various court cases. She smiled at her, but the woman didn’t smile back. Abby felt like she was a newly discovered specimen being obsessively examined, catalogued and photographed. No part of her would be left unremarked upon by the time this was over. The woman was efficient, but not talkative apart from to give Abby instructions.

“What’s happened?” said Abby for the third time. “Why won’t anyone tell me?”

“Open your mouth,” said the tech, and Abby did as she was told while a swab was swirled inside her cheeks to obtain her DNA. “Thank you.”

She closed the lid on the sample tube and then took some paper out of her bag and put it on the table. “Put your hands on there.”

Abby rested her hands on the paper and they were photographed before the tech took scrapings from beneath her fingernails.

“Were you wearing these clothes yesterday?” said the woman.

“No.”

“Have you showered since yesterday?”

“Yes. What is going on?”

The woman glanced at Abby and for a second Abby thought she was going to answer her, but she picked up her camera instead.

“I’m going to photograph your face from different angles, and then I’m going to remove your makeup and photograph you again.”

Abby nodded, not that her consent was needed or asked for; it just gave her a tiny sense of being in control when her world was falling apart around her. When her makeup was removed her bruised lips and the scratches on her face would be visible. Did that mean something? She couldn’t shake the feeling that what had happened yesterday with Rafael had something to do with this, but how, and what could it be?

The tech took closeups of the scratches and swabbed them. She took closeups of Abby’s lips, and then she put a filter on the camera and took more pictures.

“I’m going to have to ask you to undress,” she said, and she gave Abby an apologetic smile.

“Are the detectives behind the glass?” Abby said.

“I’ll make this as quick as I can,” the tech replied.

Abby got through the procedure by closing her eyes and thinking about the butterflies in her terrace garden. She should have more plants really, maybe grow some fruits. Strawberries would be nice, or raspberries. Both, why not.

“You can get dressed again,” said the tech, intruding on Abby’s fantasy.

“Thank you for being efficient,” said Abby, and the woman smiled at her out of sight of the mirror.

“You were always kind to me,” she whispered, and then she gathered her things together and left.

Abby dressed then sat down in the chair that faced the mirror. The detectives would come in now to try and question her, get her to give them a statement. Abby looked at her watch. Three hours had passed since her initial arrest, so her mom should have galvanised the family lawyer by now and he’d be well on his way down from Boston to help her. She’d just have to hold out a couple more hours and then she’d be free.

No one came, and time ticked by slowly. Abby ran dozens of scenarios over in her head about what had happened and how she’d come to be arrested. It had to be a mistake, of course it had to be, because she hadn’t murdered anyone and therefore someone somewhere had fucked up. Mistaken identity maybe, or somebody with malicious intent, like someone she’d prosecuted who was accusing her of a crime.

The evidence tech had asked her if she’d changed her clothes and showered since yesterday, so whatever had happened must have taken place then. She’d done nothing and been nowhere since Rafael left on Sunday, so there couldn’t possibly be any physical evidence to connect her to this murder. It was all a big mistake and would be sorted out soon she was sure.

She stared at the mirror. Was Pike behind there? Why had he come along to the arrest, and why hadn’t he arranged for her to be arrested somewhere private? Didn’t she deserve that courtesy? It was as though they’d wanted to make a public spectacle of her. She and the DA had disagreed at times, heatedly sometimes, but that was all part of healthy debate and a desire they both had, or so she had thought, to do the best they could for the City of New York and its people. Why hadn’t he defended her? Why hadn’t he helped her?

Abby sighed, looked at her watch again. Another hour had gone past. She had to go to central booking yet, and if they waited much longer she’d be in there with all the drunks and drug addicts and, oh, maybe that was the point! Were they trying to humiliate her as much as possible? Why, though? Why? She could come up with no plausible explanation for any of this.

She jumped when the door finally opened and the detective who’d arrested her entered along with a man she recognised because she’d worked with him many times. They got on well enough. He could be a maverick, but he usually got results. Maybe now she’d get some answers.

The two men took seats opposite Abby. “I’m Detective John Murphy, and this is Detective Paul Ryan.”

“I know who you are, John,” said Abby.

“Let’s keep this formal, shall we.”

Murphy gave Abby a hard stare, and she went cold inside. She’d convinced herself in the last hour or so of being alone that this would easily be resolved, but Murphy was deadly serious, and he had a thick file in front of him that he was resting his hands on.

“Please can you state your name, address and date of birth for the record.”

“Abigail Griffin, 43 West 12th Street, Greenwich Village, New York. Fifth December Nineteen eighty-one.”

Detective Ryan made notes as she spoke. They would already know this information, but it was standard procedure as part of the arrest process. This was really happening!

Detective Murphy opened his file, and Abby was shocked to see a photo of Rafael pinned to the front page. So, this was to do with him! Oh, God! He wasn’t the victim, was he? She stared at the photo, and when she finally looked up, saw that Murphy was watching her.

“You recognise the man in this photograph?” he said, unpinning the picture and sliding it across the table to Abby.

“Is my lawyer here?” said Abby.

Murphy ignored her. “This is a photograph of your boyfriend, Rafael Santiago.”

The temptation to answer him, to say yes, I recognise him and no, he isn’t my boyfriend was huge, but she knew better than to say anything until her lawyer had arrived.

“I’d like to see my lawyer, please,” said Abby. “Is he here?”

Murphy sniffed. He turned a few pages in his file and then unpinned another photo. He held it in front of him so that Abby couldn’t see what it depicted.

“This is Rafael Santiago when you last saw him.” He put the photo face down on the table and slid it towards Abby.

Again, the temptation to turn it over, to look at it was overwhelming, but she put her hands beneath the desk and instead stared at Murphy. She didn’t know how they could have got a photograph of her and Rafael outside her home and was curious to see it despite herself. Murphy reached across, slowly turned the photo over. Abby looked at it; she couldn’t help it. She let out an involuntary gasp. Rafael was lying on his back on the floor, his arms flung out to the sides as though he was on a cross. Blood stained his white t-shirt and pooled at his side. A lot of blood. His eyes were open, and he was clearly dead.

“Oh, my God!” Abby said without thinking. She felt sick and had to swallow hard to keep it down. Tears sprang to her eyes; she felt sorrow at his loss, despite the way he’d been the last few weeks. She’d liked him a lot once, cared for him. What on earth had happened to him? Why did they think she’d killed him?

“It’s a shock, I expect, seeing what you’ve done to him.” Murphy put his hand on the picture holding it in place so Abby couldn’t push it away.

“I...”

Murphy stared at her coolly, and Ryan was poised with his pen above his pad, waiting to write down her every word.

“I’ve invoked my right to counsel,” said Abby. “I won’t be answering any of your questions until I’ve taken his advice.” She sat back in her chair, looked past Murphy at the mirror. She didn’t know if anyone else was watching, but she wanted to look anywhere other than at the photo of Rafael or at the two detectives.

Murphy regarded her again, this time with a frown and a look that Abby thought was concern, or puzzlement maybe. He gathered up the photos, put them back in his file. “That will be all for today. You’ll be taken to central booking shortly. I expect your lawyer will meet you there.”

He and Ryan left the room and Abby resisted the temptation to put her head in her hands or show any kind of emotion at all. She didn’t know who was watching, and it was better not to give anything away that could further incriminate her in their eyes.

Rafael was dead! Shot or stabbed, she couldn’t be sure from the brief glimpse she’d had of the photo. Who had done it? Why? What evidence could the police have to make them think it was her? Her DNA would be under his fingernails perhaps from where he’d scratched her face, but they wouldn’t have the results of that yet. There couldn’t be anything, which made this whole situation she was in even more strange.

The door opened again and two NYPD police officers entered. Abby stood and they put her arms behind her back and handcuffed her.

“Is that really necessary?” she said, but they didn’t reply.

She was marched up dimly lit stairs and along drab concrete hallways that smelled damp. There was a barred room at the end of the hallway and one of the detectives opened the door while the other one pushed her inside. The scent of human bodies forced to live in close proximity to each other assaulted Abby’s nose and she wrinkled it and felt sick again. There were ten other women in the cell, and none of them looked up at her. The detective removed her handcuffs and closed the bars behind her.

A metal bench ran along two sides of the cell and there was a partition that enclosed a toilet and sink. Abby didn’t even look in there. The smell was enough to tell her everything she needed to know. She wouldn’t be peeing anytime soon.

She sat on the bench next to a woman who was swaying and in a world of her own. She felt conspicuous in her expensive suit and high heels, but no one paid her any attention, or spoke to her, and she didn’t speak to them. It was best to wait and see, speak only if spoken to. She suspected most of the women in here were drunk or on drugs. That was usually the case when she’d been here on the other side of the bars.

She had no cell phone, because the police had taken it from her along with her briefcase, but she still had her watch and she looked at it. Ten o’clock. Over five hours since she’d been arrested. They could only hold her for twenty-four without charging her. That left nineteen hours to potentially sit in here and marinate in the stench and filth. Would they leave her all that time? Probably. They didn’t seem interested in showing her any respect or courtesy.

She unbuttoned her jacket and took it off for the first time that day. She’d kept it on because she was worried Rafael might come to court and she hadn’t wanted to give him or any other man any opportunity to ogle her or misread her intentions. Now she knew that was never likely to have happened because all that time he’d been dead. It just didn’t seem possible. She hoped her mom would come down from Boston with Harvey, their lawyer. She could do with one of her hugs right now.

People came and went over the next couple of hours. One woman finally noticed Abby and expressed surprise at “someone like her” being in this cell. Abby told her she was in for a DUI and had a problem with alcohol which was something the woman could relate to. She wasn’t about to tell her she was the Assistant District Attorney. She’d like to survive this experience if possible. They chatted for a while and then a detective arrived with cartons of juice and chicken sandwiches and handed them around. Abby didn’t drink the juice because she didn’t want to have to use the toilet. Her sandwich looked like the chicken had died from a wasting disease, but she ate it because she was starving and there were still a possible fourteen hours of confinement to go.

Finally, at three o’clock in the morning, the door opened and a different detective came in.

“Griffin?” he said, and Abby stood.

She was handcuffed again and taken further into the bowels of The Tombs where she was put into a long cell with a lot of other people, all of whom were shouting and clamouring for attention. A row of lawyers stood on the other side of the bars, shouting at their clients so they could be heard. It was deafening. Abby forced her way into the corner of the cell and stood against the wall, her hands over her ears. For the first time in this whole ordeal she wanted to cry, really cry, to scream and shout and stamp her feet at the unfairness of it all. She wasn’t supposed to be here!

“Assistant District Attorney Abigail Griffin. We meet again.”

A deep male voice broke through her despair, and Abby recognised it instantly. Oh, no! What was he doing here? She turned and looked through the bars. Marcus Kane was standing on the other side. He was dressed sharply in a deep blue suit with a burgundy tie, and he had a curious half smile on his face. Oh, God! He must be here for one of his rich criminal clients and he’d seen her and come to mock her.

“Go away,” she said, turning her face so he couldn’t look at her.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Abby could see out of the corner of her eye that he hadn’t moved. She turned her head slightly. “Why not? Is one of your clients in here?” She looked around at the people who were crowding the cell. None of them looked like they could afford a lawyer like Kane.

“She is, yes.”

“Really?”

He nodded, still with the same smile plastered to his stupid, handsome face.

Abby looked around again. Surely none of these people were...oh! No! She looked at Kane wide-eyed, and he nodded again, raised both his eyebrows at her.

“Where’s Harvey?” she said, not wanting to believe that Kane was here to represent her.

“Harvey isn’t what you need. I am.”

“My mother... she’s supposed to...”

“Your mother’s the one who hired me, well, your stepfather actually, but same thing. Now shall we see about getting you out of here.”

“I don’t want you”, Abby said, not caring how ungrateful that made her sound. She was exhausted, and emotional, and the last thing she wanted was Marcus Kane and his smug smile and his patronising manner. God, he must be loving this.

“I can go and get a Legal Aid lawyer for you, if you like. I’m sure there must be at least one with experience of working on a felony murder charge. Let me see.” He turned as if to leave, and Abby put her hand through the bars, snagged his suit jacket.

“Wait.” She looked up at him and was annoyed to find tears welling in her eyes, betraying her turmoil to this impossible man.

Kane’s smile faded. “I’m here to help you,” he said. “Let me.”

“Fine,” Abby said, resignedly, and she wiped her tears away. They were the last she was going to cry today.

“Good. Now, your arraignment is in...” he looked at his expensive Rolex watch, “five minutes. They’re booking you on suspicion of murder. How do you plead?”

Abby looked at him incredulously. “Not guilty!” she cried.

“Right.” He scribbled something on his legal pad.

“I didn’t do it,” she said, desperate for someone to listen to her, to believe her.

“That’s irrelevant to me,” Kane said. “They’re going to want to keep you on remand, but I’m arguing for bail based on your high profile amongst the prison population and your family’s good standing in the community. If we get bail it will be high, in the millions I expect.” He glanced up from his note taking. “I assume your family can afford that, given that they can afford me?”

He said that so smugly Abby wanted to hit him. “Yes,” she said gruffly.

A court bailiff entered the cell and shouted her name.

“Here we go,” said Kane, smiling as though he was enjoying this. He probably was.

Abby was led to the dock and stood in front of a judge she’d been in front of a few times, though never in these circumstances. An ADA from a different district was standing a few feet away. He wasn’t someone she knew well, and he didn’t look at Abby.

“Abigail Griffin?” the judge said, looking up and frowning. “Oh, it is you.”

“Yes, Your Honour,” said Abby.

“James Stevens for the City of New York,” said the ADA.

“Marcus Kane, Ms Griffin’s Counsel,” said Kane, standing up behind Abby.

“Mr Kane,” said the judge. “Not often we see you here in person.”

“No, Your Honour. I would say it’s a pleasure to see you, but under these circumstances...”

“Hmm. Save it for the courtroom. Ms Griffin, you are being arraigned on suspicion of the felony murder of Rafael Santiago. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, Your Honour,” said Abby, trying to keep her voice calm and even. She was slipping into the world of the surreal now. Everything seemed like a dream, like it was happening to someone else. How had she got here?

“Mr Stevens? Bail? Remand?” said the judge.

“The prosecution seeks remand, Your Honour. Ms Griffin stands accused of a serious crime and cannot be allowed to remain at liberty. She is wealthy, and we believe her to be a flight risk.”

“Mr Kane? I assume you want bail?”

“Yes, Your Honour. Abby Griffin is an upstanding member of this community. She works tirelessly on behalf of the disadvantaged citizens of New York, in her spare time may I add. Giving that time for free.”

“We’re not giving her an award, Counselor,” said the judge. “Hurry it up.”

“Yes, Your Honour. Abby is not someone who runs away from a fight; believe me, I know. She’s from a family of great standing in Boston and New York, who are supporting her and willing to put up the bail and ensure she is not a flight risk. Furthermore, I believe her safety would be at great risk if she were to be remanded in jail, given she has put many of the inmates away. Your Honour does not, I am sure, want to be responsible for anything that might happen as a consequence of her detention. I therefore request her immediate release on bail.”

“Don’t presume to know what I wish or do not wish to be responsible for, Mr Kane. Bail is set at three million dollars.”

“I’m authorised to pay that, Your Honour,” said Kane.

“Very well. Bailiff, take her to be processed.”

The bailiff approached and took Abby by the arm.

“Thank you,” she said to Kane as she was led away.

“You owe me a dinner,” he said, following her as far as the door. “I was halfway through a great filet mignon when I got the call.”

He grinned at her, and a small smile tugged at Abby’s lips despite everything. Then the bailiff opened the door and took her to a holding cell where she sat with her head in her hands waiting to be processed out and for Kane to arrange the bail payment. She felt relieved, because she’d had a small victory, or rather Kane had, but it was tempered by the knowledge that she was in a lot of trouble, and she didn’t know why or how or what she was going to do about it.

She was bailed and told to present herself to the police precinct for questioning the following day. When she entered the hallway, Kane was waiting for her.

“Is my mom here?” said Abby, disappointed that he was her only reception committee.

“No. Just me.”

“Oh.” She was too tired to hide her feelings, but Kane didn’t seem bothered.

“I’ve booked you into a hotel and my assistant got you some essentials. Nightwear, ladies’ things, I don’t know what. You should have everything you need.” He put his hand on her back as he ushered her out of the door. Abby was surprised to see dawn was breaking. What a night!

“I just want to go home,” she said.

“You can’t go home. Not yet. It’s a media circus there.”

“Oh, God.” Abby stood on the street, too tired to put one foot in front of the other.

Kane stood looking at her. He put a tentative hand on her shoulder, patted it. “I’m going to get you off this. Don’t worry.”

“I didn’t do it,” said Abby once again. “I need you to believe me. I need someone to believe me.” Her voice had tears in it again, and suddenly she was too exhausted to hold them back. They flowed down her face and she stood in the back street of the courthouse, in the early morning light, with Marcus Kane standing in front of her looking perplexed, and cried out all her fear and desperation.

“Okay,” he said at last. “I believe you.”

Abby didn’t think too hard about whether he meant what he said; it was enough to hear the words. “Thank you,” she sniffed.

Kane stared at her for an age, and then he held out his arm, and Abby paused, before leaning into him. He gripped her shoulder, part comforting her and part holding her tired legs up, and they walked down the street together. Of all the things that had happened that day, this felt like the strangest, and a small laugh escaped her.

“What is it?” said Kane, looking down at her.

“Nothing,” said Abby, looking up at him, and she let herself be comforted, just for a moment, by the man who annoyed her most in the world.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tired Abby and Kane go to the precinct for questioning where some shocking things are revealed. Is there more to this than Abby is saying?

The bright sunshine assaulted Kane’s tired eyes as he walked down Franklin later that day. He’d been awake for over twenty-four hours now having managed no sleep in the short time he’d been home, and he yawned as he headed to a breakfast meeting with Abby to discuss their strategy ahead of her appointment at the precinct at noon. He’d booked her into a hotel a short walk from his loft so they could make the most of the time they had. He knew little about what had happened to her boyfriend or during her arrest and hadn’t had time to get his investigators onto the case. He was hoping she’d be less emotional this morning, and more forthcoming with him.

She’d not been happy to see him at the courthouse earlier. The look on her face when she’d realised he was there to represent her had made him want to smile, she was so shocked and disappointed. She found it hard to conceal her feelings; he’d noticed that about her in court. He’d thought that was a sign of her honest nature, but after the events of the last day he wasn’t so sure. Less than forty-eight hours ago he’d been watching a baseball game with his uncle. Abby had been stabbing her boyfriend to death. Was that really the case? He just couldn’t see it.

He entered the hotel and headed for the private dining room he’d reserved for them to work in. When he entered the room, Abby was slumped at the table, her head resting on her arms. She slowly looked up as he approached.

“Morning,” said Kane in a cheery voice that belied his own tiredness. He wanted her to be awake, bright and ready to go.

“God,” she said by way of greeting, and let her head slump back onto her arms again.

“I’ve been called worse,” said Kane, and he put his briefcase on the table next to her head with a bang.

She looked up again. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed with dark circles beneath them. Her hair was unbrushed and messy. She was wearing a thin blue sweater and dark jeans, and looked like she was nursing the mother of all hangovers, although he doubted she’d been drinking. The sight of her stirred something inside him, the same thing that had made him put his arm around her when they’d left the courthouse. It wasn’t something he’d ever done with a client before, but she’d looked so sad and vulnerable; it had tugged at a heart string. He cursed his mother for giving those genes to him. He suppressed them successfully most of the time, because they weren’t useful in his line of work, but every now and then...

“You know we’re going to the precinct today,” he said as he pulled out a chair next to her and sat down.

“How could I forget?”

“You’d better tidy yourself up later. I want you to look professional.”

She stared at him; her lip half curled into something that wanted to be a snarl but which she managed to get under control. It turned into one of her sarcastic smiles instead. “Of course,” she said.

A waitress entered the room with a tray of coffees and pastries. She put it on the table and left. Kane picked up the jug, poured them both a coffee. He passed one to Abby along with a pastry.

“I can’t eat anything,” she said.

“You must. You’re going to have a long, stressful day ahead and you need to feed that big brain of yours. Eat something.”

She looked curiously at him, and then she picked out a small chunk of the muffin and chewed on it.

“I need to get some background on your relationship with the victim, and what happened the last time you saw him. How long had you been together?”

“We weren’t together,” she said, surprising Kane.

“Oh? I thought he was your boyfriend.”

“We went on a few dates, five, maybe six that you could call official dates. I ended it three weeks ago.” She sipped her coffee, took another bite of her muffin. Some colour was returning to her cheeks.

“I see. Was the relationship sexual?”

“It wasn’t a relationship, and no, we didn’t have sex, or anything physical in that way.”

Another surprise for Kane. He’d just assumed, the way people around his office had been talking, that it had been a full-blown affair. Abby must have seen his surprise in his face, because she raised an eyebrow at him.

“This might be a shock to you, but not everybody has sex on the first date, or even the second, third or fourth.”

Not as much of a shock as you might think, thought Kane. “Very little shocks me,” he replied. “I’d heard rumours about the two of you, so I assumed it was more than what you’re saying.”

“You heard rumours?” She seemed surprised to hear that.

Kane shrugged. “Office gossip. I don’t pay it any heed, but when I heard what happened...”

Abby put her head in her hands. “This is what everyone will be thinking.”

“It doesn’t matter what people are thinking. People are stupid; they’ll believe anything. We’re interested in the facts.” He took a sip of his coffee. “When did you last see him?”

“On Sunday. He sent me a couple of texts which I hadn’t seen and then he turned up on my doorstep. He wasn’t happy that I’d ended it with him. He thought it was more than what it was.”

“Was he harassing you? Do you still have the texts?”

“Yes, but the police still have my phone.”

“We can get the exchanges from your provider. So, you went on a few dates, it wasn’t working for you and you ended it. He started harassing you, and then he showed up at your door, is that right so far?”

“Yes.”

“What happened then?”

“He said he wanted to apologise, and he was smiling and he looked like he was telling the truth so I went downstairs and spoke to him on my doorstep. His mood soon turned, and when I asked him to leave, he grabbed me and tried to force himself on me. He kissed me and scratched my face.” She was matter of fact as she told Kane the story, but he could tell from the way she fidgeted with the sleeves of her sweater that it had been a distressing experience.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He looked closely at her. “Is that all he did?”

She looked up at him, anger on her face and in her voice. “Is that all? Is that not enough for you? Am I supposed to be grateful that’s ALL he did?”

Shit, he’d fucked that up. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I, erm... I meant to say... did he force himself on you in any other way? Did he do anything that you don’t want to tell me about? Because you can tell me anything. I’m only here to help you.”

Her face softened a fraction. “No, he didn’t do anything else.”

“I’m sorry, Abby. I was only concerned that you weren’t telling me everything, but my choice of words was poor.”

She nodded, and Kane hoped he’d rescued the situation, because he needed her on his side, and cooperative.

“He had no right to touch me at all,” she said in a small voice.

“No, he did not.” He looked at her again and sucked in his bottom lip.

“What?” she said. “Just say it.”

“You can’t react like that in the interview if they ask the same question. It makes you look volatile.”

She closed her eyes, sighed out a long breath. “Yes. I know.” She opened her eyes again. “I’ll get it all out in here with you.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” said Kane. “And we both know I’m good at annoying you, so you’ll have plenty of opportunities to blow.”

She smiled a little at that, and Kane smiled back.

“Okay. We need to get a statement out to the press,” he said. “I’m not going to put you in front of them because I don’t want them asking questions, but we need to say something.”

“I’m sorry that he’s dead. Rafael. I don’t feel like I’ve been able to say that, or even to process what has happened to him.”

“I’m sure you are, but we’re not going to say that in the statement. His death has nothing to do with you, and it’s best not to express any kind of remorse.”

“I know. I guess I just wanted to say it out loud.” Her voice cracked, and she coughed to clear it, sat up straight.

“Like I said, these are the kinds of things you can say to me. I was thinking of just a straightforward denial. ADA Griffin categorically denies the allegations made against her and will be mounting a vigorous defence. What about that?”

Abby grimaced. “Sounds like I’m getting on a horse. What about ADA Griffin categorically denies the allegations made against her and we are confident of her exoneration in due course.”

“That’s good,” said Kane. “I like that. It’s good to sound confident, because we are.” Abby’s wry smile suggested she was sceptical of Kane’s assertion, but she nodded her agreement.

“I’m happy with the statement,” she said.

“I’ll get Harper to put it out later. Now, let’s talk strategy.”

\---

Abby had pulled herself together by the time they got to the police precinct. She’d had no sleep and was despairing earlier after hours of going over the same thoughts in her mind. Kane had been right; a shower, a change of clothes into a suit like she would normally wear at work and she felt more like herself. It was like slipping into a familiar personality when she’d braided her hair and buttoned up her jacket. She was in control, and in her element. Gone was the vulnerable woman who’d betrayed her need to Kane in the early hours. She was back, and the detectives were going to get two lawyers for the very expensive price of one.

She was confident as she reported to the desk and was escorted with Kane to an interrogation room. They sat in silence while they waited for the detectives, neither of them trusting from personal experience that no one was listening in to any conversation. They’d discussed their strategy for the interview and speculated on the kind of evidence the police must have, which had to be minimal, because she hadn’t done what she was accused of. Kane was confident this would be cleared up quickly, and so was she.

After half an hour of silence, which they both passed by making notes, the door opened, and Detectives Murphy and Ryan entered.

“Good afternoon,” said Murphy as he took his seat. “Thank you for attending this interview.”

As though I had a choice, thought Abby. Murphy placed the file he’d had with him in the previous interview on the table. It was noticeably thicker than before. The sight of it made Abby’s blood run cold. What could they possibly have in there?

Murphy pressed a button on a tape recorder, and Abby knew that cameras would also be recording the scene.

“It’s Tuesday the twenty-fourth of September, Twenty Nineteen. Twelve thirty in the afternoon. Present is myself, Detective John Murphy...” He nodded at Ryan.

“Detective Paul Ryan.”

“Abigail Griffin,” said Abby, familiar with the routine.

“Marcus Kane for the defence,” said Kane.

“Thank you,” said Murphy. “Abby, can you confirm for the tape that you have been read your rights previously and that you have invoked your right to Counsel.”

“I have in both instances,” replied Abby.

“Can you sign this Miranda statement for us, please.” Murphy passed the paper to her and Abby signed it.

“Abby, you were arrested yesterday on suspicion of murdering Rafael Santiago. Is there anything you’d like to tell us about that?”

“Ms Griffin denies having anything to do with the murder,” said Kane on Abby’s behalf.

The detectives questioned her at length about her relationship with Rafael and made her run through the events of Sunday, exactly as Kane had done. Abby kept calm throughout it all, because she’d already been through it with Kane, and it was the truth.

“How many times have you been to Mr Santiago’s apartment?” said Murphy.

“I’ve never been to his apartment.”

“Never been? But you were dating.”

“We weren’t dating. We had a few nights out together; it’s not the same thing.”

“Sounds like dating to me,” said Ryan.

“Not the way you mean,” said Abby.

“And what do we mean exactly?” Murphy twiddled his pen between finger and thumb and looked at her.

“We won’t be speculating on what you may or may not mean,” said Kane. “Please stick to questions.”

“You think we mean dating as in sleeping together?”

“What did I just say?” said Kane.

“So, you weren’t dating, and you weren’t sleeping together. What were you doing? Braiding each other’s hair?”

Detective Ryan sniggered at Murphy’s comment, and Abby glared at him. “I’ve told you the nature of our relationship, such as it was.”

“You never went to his apartment?”

“No.”

“You never slept in his bed?”

“No.”

“Never drank from a glass, read one of his books, changed your clothes?”

Abby was perplexed at the line of questioning. Where was it leading?

“We’ve answered your question,” said Kane.

“Hmm.” Murphy sat back in his chair. “This is a very interesting tactic.”

“What, the truth? Perhaps you don’t recognise it, John,” said Abby.

“Abby...” said Kane, putting his hand on her arm briefly.

“I’m talking about denying what is so easily provable.”

“What do you mean?” said Abby.

Murphy opened his file, started pulling out photographs and pieces of paper. Abby took the opportunity to look at Kane. He rubbed the side of his nose, which meant let’s wait and see, and also keep quiet.

Murphy slid a photograph of a fingerprint on a bedside table lamp to Abby. “This fingerprint was found by crime scene investigators at the scene of the murder. It’s in the victim’s bedroom, on a lamp next to his bed.”

He looked at Abby, but she remained silent.

Murphy took out more photographs. “This fingerprint was found on a glass in the kitchen cupboard. This one on a book that was also on the bedside table.” He tapped each picture, then gathered them back in, tucked them into his folder. “Those are your fingerprints,” he said, folding his arms.

“They can’t be my fingerprints,” said Abby, and Kane put his hand on her arm again to tell her to keep quiet.

“They are. If you’ve never been to the victim’s apartment, how do you explain these?”

“I’m advising my client not to answer that,” said Kane.

“You can’t answer a simple question about why your fingerprints are in your boyfriend’s apartment?” Murphy raised his eyebrows at her, as though he couldn’t believe Abby was this stupid.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” said Abby.

“So you say,” said Murphy. He opened his folder, took out another photograph. “Do you recognise the item in this picture?”

Abby pulled the photograph towards her. It was of a pale blue summer scarf similar to one she owned.

“I’m advising my client not to answer that,” said Kane, sliding the photo back to Murphy.

Murphy sighed. “We’re not going to get far if you don’t answer any of our questions.

Kane sat back, stared at Murphy without speaking. Abby was trying to remember when she’d last worn or seen that scarf, but she couldn’t. She watched, despair and a hint of fear starting to grow inside her, as Murphy removed another photo from his folder. What now?

“These are hairs found in the victim’s bed. We haven’t received the DNA results yet, but they are long and brown. What colour would you call that, Detective Ryan?” said Murphy, showing the picture to Ryan.

“Golden brown,” said Ryan.

“Golden brown. Hmmm. Your hair is golden brown, wouldn’t you say, Abby?”

“I’m advising my client not to answer that,” said Kane again.

“Your client doesn’t know her own hair colour?” said Murphy. He put the photo away. “Okay. Let’s move on. Yesterday, based on the evidence I have just shown you, we obtained a search warrant for your property in Greenwich Village and we executed that warrant at fourteen hundred hours.

That news shocked Abby to her core. They’d been in her house? What for? What could they have found? More false evidence? Her heart was beating fast now, her hands sweaty. She kept them folded in her lap, so their shakes wouldn’t betray her fear.

“Has Mr Santiago ever been to your house?” Murphy said.

“Only to the front door,” said Abby.

“You’ve never had your associates over for drinks or dinner, never had late night meetings there, never took Rafael there after one of your non-dates and had non-sex with him?”

“No,” said Abby.

“We obtained footage from your video intercom system, which shows you and Mr Santiago on your front doorstep.”

He flipped open a tablet, searched a folder and brought up a video, which he showed to Abby and Kane. It showed Rafael heading down the path towards her door and standing outside. The detective fast forwarded the image because Rafael was standing there a while, and nothing was happening. There was no sound and the video didn’t show him with his finger on the doorbell.

“He was there five minutes before you opened the door,” said Murphy.

“I was on the terrace and didn’t hear it like I told you.”

“With your phone on mute, yes, you said.”

Murphy pressed play and in the footage Rafael stood back. Abby wasn’t visible at first because she was on her step, and then she came into view, her long legs in her short shorts, her thin cardigan wrapped around her. They were clearly talking, and then Rafael put his hand on the wall next to her, moved closer. His arm hid Abby’s face from the camera, and the scene didn’t look threatening, not without the sound, or her face in view. They looked close, familiar. Then he grabbed her arm, pulled her to him, and kissed her. She watched herself scratch his face, and him pull away, and then he moved away, and she disappeared from the scene. The video ended with him walking away down the path.”

“I told you all that,” Abby said when Murphy closed the tablet.

“You did, yes. We’re not disputing you had a fight.”

“Okay,” said Abby.

“You didn’t tell us what he said, though.”

A cold shiver ran through Abby. “What do you mean?”

“We interviewed your neighbours, and one of them overheard you shouting. She couldn’t make all of it out, but one thing was clear. She claims Mr Santiago said ‘Your boss is going to hear about this. You’ve assaulted me.’ Yet I’m sure if we roll back the recording of this interview we’ll see that you forgot to mention this in your statement about that event. Did Mr Santiago threaten to tell your boss about your inappropriate relationship, and that you had assaulted him?”

“I’d like a moment with my client,” said Kane.

“I bet you would.” Murphy gathered his files together. “Interview suspended at fifteen hundred hours.” He switched off the tape recorder. “We’ll be back,” he said, and he and Ryan left the room.

Kane turned to Abby. “What the hell?” he whispered. “Why haven’t you told me any of this?”

“I didn’t think anyone had heard us,” she whispered, her hand covering her mouth so anyone watching the recording couldn’t lip read.

“That’s not an excuse!” Kane’s dark eyes were flashing; he was mad as hell, even though he had to speak in a whisper.

“I know!”

“Fuck! Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell them the truth, Abby?”

“I was ashamed that I’d got myself into that situation, and scared. I didn’t think we’d been overheard, so I didn’t think anyone needed to know.”

“Jesus Christ!” He ran his hand through his hair, causing its neatly gelled curls to soften, and flop into his eyes. He brushed them away angrily. “Have you been in his apartment too? Have you had sex with him? Have you lied to me all along?”

“No, I...”

The door opened and the detectives retook their seats. Murphy smiled at Kane and Abby. “Everything okay?” he said.

“Please continue,” said Kane, his voice calm and even, and completely unlike the harsh, angry tone he’d used with Abby a minute ago.

She couldn’t blame him. She’d fucked up monumentally! Why hadn’t she told the truth? Her stupid pride. Goddamn this all to hell!

Murphy switched on the tape to resume the interview. “Before we left, I informed you that we had a statement from your neighbour claiming that Rafael Santiago said you’d assaulted him. What do you say to that?”

“I’ve advised my client not to answer that,” said Kane.

“Of course you have.” Murphy smiled. “I have one more thing for today, and then you’ll be free to go.” He opened up the damned folder again, brought out a sheaf of papers. He flicked through them. “Very interesting reading these,” he said.

Abby had no idea what they could be. She was exhausted now, spent. Her long, stressful, sleepless night, and the detective’s relentless questioning was overwhelming her. She just wanted to close her eyes, go to sleep and never wake up.

Murphy started to read from one of the papers. “Abby was amazing tonight. We went to the theatre, then we had dinner at Boucherie on Seventh Avenue. I walked her back to her house, and we kissed on her doorstep. I could feel her need, her longing. It won’t be long now.”

Murphy looked up at Abby, who was staring disbelieving at him. What fresh hell was this?

He continued. “It happened tonight. Finally. Abby came back to my apartment and we had another glass of wine. We ended up making love on my sofa and then again in my bed. It was amazing. She’s amazing.”

Abby gasped at the words. None of that was true. What was Murphy reading? A diary? If so, it was all a fantasy. Surely, they didn’t believe this?

“What is this?” said Kane in a tired voice.

“I fucked up last week at work and since then Abby has barely spoken to me during office hours. She’s cut my case load and has excluded me from team meetings. She came around last night and we fucked, and I thought it meant we were okay again, but today she said I was ruining her career. I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.”

Murphy put the papers down. “There are lots more like this. A whole journal full of your non relationship with your junior. Can you really still deny you weren’t in a relationship? That you didn’t go to his apartment, have sex with him, abuse your position as his boss?”

“My client will not be answering that question,” said Kane.

“You were having a sexual relationship with Rafael Santiago, against the rules of your office, and in direct conflict with your position as his superior with power over him and his career. At some point you got tired of him, and you wanted rid of him, and when he wouldn’t go easily, when he threatened to tell your boss, you got angry, and you went to his apartment and you got into a fight and you stabbed him with a kitchen knife.” Murphy leaned forward so he was closer to Abby. He spoke in a low voice. “Perhaps it was accidental, the heat of the moment. You had the knife in your hand, and he was threatening you, getting too close. You lashed out. You didn’t mean to do it.”

“No!” cried Abby, and Kane kicked her beneath the table.

“My client won’t be answering any more of your questions.”

“That’s fine,” said Murphy. “We have the evidence we need, and soon we’ll have the DNA as the cherry on top of a very tasty cake. I would advise you, Abby, if I were your Counsel, to tell the truth now. It will be much better for you when you go to court if you’ve cooperated with us.”

“She won’t be answering your questions, as I just said.” Kane folded his arms, glared at everyone in the room.

Abby was numb, couldn’t speak even if her life depended on it.

“Interview terminated at sixteen hundred hours,” said Murphy, and he switched off the machine.

“Think about what I said, Abby,” he said as he left. “This man and his tactics aren’t what’s best for you.”

Abby was left alone with Kane in the interview room.

“Let’s go,” he said gruffly, and when she didn’t move, he pulled back her chair and dragged her to her feet. She moved then, somehow put one foot in front of the other, and followed him out of the courthouse.

They walked in silence back to her hotel. Kane pressed the elevator button and Abby realised he was taking her up to her room. He was going to explode, she could feel it in the air around him, which was dark and heavy.

He closed the door behind them, then turned a thunderous glare on her.

“What the hell happened in there?” he said.

“Kane...”

“I can’t believe you’ve fucked us over like that. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t...”

“No! Clearly, you weren’t. Fuck!” He leaned in close to her, his breath warming her already hot face. “I want you to tell me everything. EVERYTHING! I don’t care about your reputation. I don’t care if you’ve done bad things. I don’t care if you like to swing from chandeliers when you’re having sex, or pick up men on the corner of Canal and Bowery, or abduct orphans and sell them on the black market. I DON’T CARE! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me the truth. You can tell me anything, Abby, okay. There’s very little I haven’t seen or heard.”

“OKAY!” shouted Abby. “But I DO care. Not about what you think, but about my reputation, my career. It’s important to me. I’ve worked hard, and not just to be the best I can but to overcome all the prejudice of being a rich girl. People think I’m only here because my parents are wealthy, and my stepfather is one of the biggest businessmen in Boston. They think I bought my way to Harvard, and the DA’s office. I’ve had to work twice as hard, three times, just to be respected. I didn’t want to throw that away, okay. Is that so hard to understand?”

“I understand it, but you’re in a lot of trouble here, Abby. I don’t think you realise just how much! Your life is at stake, your liberty. You don’t have the luxury of caring about your reputation. Not in front of me, and certainly not in front of the NYPD. You should have told the truth from the start, because now you’ve dropped their case right in their laps.”

“They already had a case,” said Abby quietly, the fight going out of her.

“What do you mean?”

“I have told you the truth, apart from the doorstep conversation. I’ve never been to his apartment. I’ve never read any of his books or had a glass of anything. I’ve certainly never been in his bed or left my clothes there! I never had sex with him, and I never threatened him or stopped speaking to him like he wrote in that diary. That evidence has been fabricated, Kane. Someone is framing me.”

“You expect me to believe you, after everything that’s just happened?”

The strength went out of Abby’s legs, and she sat on the bed. “No. I don’t expect you to believe me, but it’s the truth.”

“You begged me earlier to believe you, and I did. Now...” The bed sagged as Kane sat next to her.

“I’m sorry,” said Abby, looking up into his eyes. His brow was furrowed deeply, and he was chewing on his bottom lip. “Not telling you about the conversation was a mistake, but the rest is true, Kane.”

He sighed heavily. “Yes. Yes, I can see that. Who would want to do that, though? And why?”

“I don’t know. Honestly,” Abby said when he frowned at her again.

“Then I guess we’d better find out.” Kane lay back on the bed, stared up at the ceiling. “I knew you’d be trouble,” he said, and he shook his head.

Abby lay back next to him. “You can stop representing me,” she said. “I’ll understand.”

Kane turned his head towards her. “Do you want me to?”

Abby paused. If she said yes, he’d be gone, and she’d never have to deal with Marcus Kane again. Of course, she’d be in jail, so she’d never see anybody again. As much as she hated to admit it, he was probably the best person to help her get out of the mess she was in.

“No,” she said. “I want you to stay.”

“Good job I like a challenge,” he said, then he closed his eyes. Silence descended, and it wasn’t until he started snoring softly that Abby realised he’d fallen asleep.

She thought about moving, sitting in a chair or something, but she was too exhausted, so she turned away from him and closed her own eyes, and let herself drift to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane and Abby have a midnight conversation

When Kane woke it was dark, and it took him a while to adjust his eyes to the gloom. When he opened them fully, he saw Abby Griffin’s sleeping face next to him, and for a moment he was completely flummoxed, couldn’t understand what she was doing here in his bed, and then he realised. He wasn’t in his bed; he was in her hotel room, and the last thing he remembered was lying back on her bed to rest his weary head. He must have fallen asleep, and for some reason, she had fallen asleep next to him. The trust that showed, after everything she’d been through, made unexpected warmth flush through his body, although she’d probably just been too exhausted to move, like he had.

Kane looked at the hotel alarm clock; it was long past midnight, so he’d slept the equivalent of a whole night. No wonder he felt rested. He looked at Abby as she slept; her face was softer in repose, the parts he could see beneath her curtain of hair. He rolled gently off the bed and stood. He wasn’t sure what to do. He should go home, but he didn’t want to leave her to wake up alone. If she’d fallen asleep after him, she’d probably be awake soon anyway, and then he could say a formal goodnight.

It was warm in the room, almost stifling. He removed his jacket, laid it on the edge of the bed along with his tie, and unbuttoned his white shirt at the neck so he could breathe. He sat in one of the tub chairs in front of the large window and looked out at the twinkling lights of Manhattan. Broadway was still bustling with cars, their red taillights crowding the avenue. It looked like a toy scene from up here, one of those plastic roadmaps he’d driven his cars up and down as a kid. Ithaca would be quieter at this time of night, especially around his parents’ farmhouse. He was looking forward to the trip now; a break ahead of the chaos that was about to befall him for the next few months of his life with Abby’s trial to prepare for.

Abby’s trial. He couldn’t get his head around the concept. He could barely begin to understand what it must be like for her to suddenly be in the middle of this nightmare. She’d lied to him yesterday, not directly, but a lie of omission, and then she’d expected him to believe the rest of the story, despite the evidence the detectives had put in front of their eyes. It was a big ask, and he had no real reason to believe her unquestioningly. He barely knew her, but he thought she was a good person. Caring, compassionate. Of course, even good people did bad things, and you could never know what was really going on in someone’s head, or in their private life.

It was never usually a consideration in his working life, whether he believed a client or not, whether he thought they were guilty or innocent. He never asked, and they never told. It was the only way to do business. His job was to give them the best defence he could, as was their right. Were most of his clients guilty? Probably, but that didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter now, but somehow it did. Because she wanted him to believe her, maybe. Why she wanted that he wasn’t sure. She didn’t know him either, and she certainly had no reason to care about what he thought, not after the things he’d said and done to her, the magazine article, the way he’d humiliated her in court recently. She was lonely, perhaps. Vulnerable. She needed something to cling to, and he was here.

If she was telling the truth, and the evidence against her was planted, then someone was framing her, and Kane had to find out why, and who. The most likely suspect was someone she’d put away, a high-profile criminal, someone with money, and reach. He’d get his team looking into all her past cases later today.

“Kane?” The bed creaked, and Kane turned to see Abby sitting up, brushing her hair from her eyes, and blinking in his direction.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning? It’s the middle of the night!”

“It’s past midnight, so it’s morning, technically.”

“I guess.” Abby sat with her legs swinging off the bed. She sighed, and then she kicked off her shoes and padded over to Kane. “What are you still doing here?”

“I was just thinking.”

“About?” She sat in the other tub chair next to Kane.

“You. Your case. Who might want to frame you.”

“Ah.” She got up again.

“Where are you going?” said Kane as he watched her cross the room.

“I’m going for a pee and then I’m going to raid the mini bar.”

“At this time of night?”

“If we’re going to be talking about who wants to destroy me, I’m gonna need a drink.”

When she returned to her chair, she was jacketless and was holding two glasses. She handed one to Kane and he took a sip of the scotch. This was probably a mistake, and he’d end up falling asleep again, but it warmed his limbs, and sparked his synapses.

“Cheers,” said Abby, holding her glass out for him to clink his against. “Here’s to the end of my life as I know it.”

“You’ll get your life back, once we get to the bottom of this.”

“As easy as that,” she said mournfully, taking a long sip of her drink.

“Come on, Abby. That attitude isn’t helpful. Where’s the feisty woman from court? The one who never gives up, who fights to the end?”

“She’s everything that’s wrong with her profession, remember.”

Kane felt his cheeks warm at her quote from his article. She wasn’t looking at him, trying to bait him. She seemed genuinely depressed about what he’d said. When he’d seen it in print, he’d expected her wrath, not this doleful acceptance. She was downhearted, and he wasn’t sure whether to commiserate or try to gee her up.

“I only said that to try and spark a debate,” he said lamely.

“You maligned me.”

“I didn’t mean to; not like that.”

She curled her feet up beneath her legs, rested her head against the back of the chair and looked at him. “Well, you did.”

“I’m an ass,” said Kane. “Sometimes.”

She arched an eyebrow in response, and he smiled.

“My colleague read it and called me a big-headed bastard,” he said.

“Your colleague is right.” Her lips upturned into the start of a smile.

“With my big head and your big brains, maybe we stand a chance of solving this.”

She smiled more fully then. “Griffin and Kane, the Holmes and Watson of New York.” She clinked her glass against his again.

“I’m definitely Holmes in this partnership,” said Kane.

“Dream on,” said Abby, and she drained the rest of her glass.

She got up to go to the bar and returned with a handful of bottles and snacks. Kane opened a packet of peanuts, and another whisky.

“I’ll get my team looking at all your past cases later today,” he said, “but is there anyone who stands out in your mind? Anyone who threatened you?”

“Oh, lots of them have threatened me. It’s par for the course. We prosecutors don’t usually drink bottles of expensive bourbon in bars with our clients when we win cases,” she said, looking at him slyly.

“You should come over to the dark side once we clear this up. Hang out with wife murderers and drunk drivers. Have some fun!”

“Oh, so you admit your last client murdered his wife!”

“It was not proven beyond a reasonable doubt,” smirked Kane.

“I don’t know how you defend them when you know they’re guilty,” she said.

This wasn’t the first time Kane had heard comments like that. He got it all the time, from prosecutors, journalists, his mother, all her hippy friends. It didn’t bother him; he’d searched his conscience a long time ago and settled with it. “Yes, you do. I do it because it’s their right to have a strong defence. Without people like me there’d be no checks on the prosecutors. The law needs balance, and someone has to do this side of it, someone has to get their hands dirty.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Really? I suppose you’ve never prosecuted some poor schmuck down on his luck, stealing to feed his habit or pay his rent? How does it feel putting someone like that away?”

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed. “You could defend people like that.”

“So could you.”

“I do!”

“On the side, to ease your liberal conscience. You love the challenge of being a prosecutor, the cut and thrust of the courtroom. You want to be the best, pit your wits against a good opponent, as do I. That’s your motivator. Don’t kid yourself it’s anything else.”

“I...” She pulled an array of faces while she contemplated him, settling eventually on a half-smile. “Let’s get back to business, shall we.”

“Let’s.” Kane took that as a small victory, and he popped a peanut in his mouth and crunched on it smugly while he looked at her.

Abby rolled her eyes, but when she put her glass to her mouth and took a sip she was smiling. “There were a couple of men last year I put away. They were part of a big criminal enterprise. Gun running, drugs, that kind of thing. We thought they were high up in the gang, but we never identified the leaders.”

“Are you talking about organised crime?” said Kane, his interest piqued given his recent conversation with Frank and his relationship to Luca Romano.

“In a modern day sense I suppose, yes. They’re not like old style Mafia families, if that’s what you’re thinking. We didn’t think there was one person at the head of it, more like a spider’s web of connected gangs.”

“Every spider’s web has a spider at the centre of it,” said Kane.

“True, but like I said, there was no evidence. Pike didn’t even want me to prosecute the two men I did manage to catch, said it was unwinnable, but I was convinced I could do it, and I did.” She looked proudly at Kane, and he nodded. “A couple of months afterwards, threatening letters were sent to the police and the DA’s office. I was named, as well as Pike and other people. It wasn’t specific to me, though.”

“Specific enough to name you personally. Definitely worth looking into.” Kane wrote the names she told him on his pad. “What about past relationships? Scorned lovers, other than Rafael?”

“There hasn’t been anyone for a long time,” she said quietly, staring out at the dark night.

Kane suspected she was telling the truth because he hadn’t been able to find any history for her in his research, although he’d only gone back a couple of years. Her relationship with Santiago, or whatever it was, had been too recent for him to know about it, though he now knew there’d been gossip, which he hadn’t heard. He’d have to stop tuning out when his staff were talking over lunches and dinners. The annoying one, Kyle, seemed to know everything about everyone. He’d have to take him to lunch now and then. The thought made Kane grimace.

“You don’t believe me?” Abby said, misinterpreting his look.

“I do. I do believe you. I was just thinking of something else.” He thought she would come back with some quip about her not being interesting enough for him, but she simply nodded and finished off her drink. She put the glass on the table and didn’t refill it.

“Tell me about work,” Kane said. “How are things with your colleagues, past and present?”

“I get along with most people. We’re a good team. Raven Reyes is the junior I work with the most, and I would consider us work friends as well as colleagues.”

“Work friends? Not friends outside of the office?”

“I don’t really have a lot of spare time outside the office, and I have the pro bono work I do for the legal aid firm. That takes up a lot of my time.”

Kane nodded. Her life sounded a lot like his, except for being a more community-minded person than he was. Her work was everything to her. It wasn’t a surprise; she didn’t get to be as good as she was without making sacrifices.

“Pike and I rub along I suppose you could say.”

“But you don’t have a great relationship?”

“I wouldn’t say that. We have different views. I’m not shy to express mine as you know.” She gave him a wry smile. “He isn’t either. He’s dogmatic, likes to lay down the law, but sometimes I win our arguments.”

“How does he react when you win?”

“He doesn’t murder our staff if that’s what you’re asking!”

“No, I know, but sometimes resentments can build up.”

“Yeah,” she said, sounding completely unconvinced. Kane was clutching at straws, he knew that, but she was ultimately a good person, well-liked. It was hard to see what anyone could have against her.

“What about family then. Old school friends.”

“I grew up in Boston. Both my parents are lawyers. Well, my dad’s been dead a long time, but they were, and my mom’s a judge now. She remarried, god it must be eight or nine years ago.”

It was ten, Kane knew from his research. Eleven years since Abby’s father died. Ten since her mother remarried. He wondered if she subconsciously misremembered the time because of the closeness of the two events. It must have been difficult to lose a father and have your mother find someone else so quickly. Kane’s own father had died only a few years after they’d moved to Ithaca, when Kane was still a teenager. Abby had been a lot older than that, but the pain of losing a parent was great no matter how old you were.

He coughed to suppress the emotion that welled up in him surprisingly. “Your stepfather is the prominent businessman, Dante Wallace of course.”

“Yes. It’s probably his money that’s paying for you. I want to talk to you about that, actually. I can pay you myself.”

“Let’s think about that another time,” said Kane, anxious not to be sidetracked into a conversation about his fee. He doubted Abby knew how much he was being paid or that she could afford his fee herself.

“I don’t like to be beholden to him, or anybody,” said Abby, popping some disgusting looking bright orange potato chip into her mouth and then licking the dust off her fingers. How could she eat that? Kane suppressed the desire to pull another face.

“I know you don’t, but it’s not a conversation for the early hours of the morning.”

“Okay,” she sniffed, “but we’ll be having that talk.”

“Do you have any siblings?” Kane said, steering her back on topic.

“No, although Dante has a son, Cage, but he never lived with us and I only see him at gatherings.”

“How did your stepfather make his money?”

“Erm, lots of things, I think. Construction initially, and then investments. He doesn’t talk about it much. To speak about money is vulgar according to my mother.”

Kane was familiar with Judge Elizabeth Griffin-Wallace. He’d been before her once when he’d had a client accused of a fraud that spanned multiple states. The case had been tried in Boston, and Kane had lost. Abby’s mother was no nonsense and came across as aloof, standoffish. Kane had liked her, until she’d ruled against him. She seemed very different to her warm-hearted daughter.

“I agree,” Kane said, in the vain hope he could prevent Abby discussing his fee at some point in the near future. “And Wallace doesn’t have any enemies that you know of?”

“Oh, I’m sure he must have lots of enemies, or rivals, whatever you want to call them, but none who would be interested in me.”

Abby seemed confident as she crunched on another chip, but Kane wasn’t so sure. Businessmen like Wallace usually trod on a lot of people to get where they were. He was someone to look into, although it would have to be done carefully. He was friends with Senators, and the Governors of Boston and New York. Kane didn’t want his career destroyed because of this case.

“Okay,” he said, closing his notepad. “I think that will do for now.”

“Yes, you should get home,” said Abby. “It’s late, or early.” She emitted a kind of half laugh, half sigh.

“Yes, and you should get some more rest.” Kane put his papers into his briefcase then stood, went over to the bed and picked up his jacket, putting it on. He stuffed his tie into his pocket. “Okay, then,” he said, looking at Abby, who was still sitting in the chair.

She swivelled her head, looked up at him, her hair falling into her eyes. She brushed it aside. “Do you have far to go?”

“Just up the street. I’m in the Sugar Loaf building.”

“That’s convenient,” she said, her eyebrow raised.

“It is. It’s useful having you close, for moments like tonight.”

“Yes, I suppose. Well, thanks for today, or yesterday.”

“All part of the service,” he said, and then he hurried out of the room before he could say anything else stupid. It wasn’t part of the usual service to fall asleep with a client on their bed and then spend half the night having an impromptu meeting with them, but Abby wasn’t his average client. He stepped out into the warm early morning air, and twenty minutes later was lying on his sofa staring at his notes and thinking about her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby is summoned to her office, and Kane gets his team to work before being confronted with an angry Abby.

Later that morning, after Kane had gone home, and she’d had a power nap, a shower and a change of clothes, Abby walked up Franklin towards her office at Hogan Place. She felt nervous as she approached Lafayette. If she turned left she’d be at the Tombs where she’d been detained in that filthy cell for all those hours. Ahead of her was the Criminal Court, where her trial would be held. These places had been her playground for years; she’d felt comfortable, at home. Now they seemed threatening, their pale granite edifices looming over her, closing in, until she could feel them weighing her down. She staggered into Collect Pond Park, sat for a minute on one of the benches. You can do this, she told herself.

Pike had texted Kane who then left a message with Abby’s hotel, requesting Abby meet him at midday. The police still had Abby’s personal and work phones and she knew she wouldn’t be getting them back. Kane’s assistant was organising her a new one, but until then she was contactless. It was a strange feeling, because her phone was her life, like it was for most people these days, and she felt lost without it, disconnected, literally. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Journalists couldn’t pester her for one thing. They were calling Kane’s office instead, but his team were equipped to handle all that. Abby checked her watch; it was five minutes to twelve. No more dawdling. Face up to it, Abby.

She entered the building, but she didn’t have a pass because it was in her briefcase which the police still had, so she had to wait in the lobby. One of the interns came to find her, which Abby thought was a deliberately humiliating act on Pike’s behalf. She followed the girl through the familiar hallways. People stopped and stared at her as she passed, and she felt like she was ten times her normal size, unmissable, freakish. She held her head up, strode on purposefully. Screw them all.

The intern waved her pass in front of the entry system and pushed open the door. The DA’s office had a bullpen, where the junior associates worked at crowded desks, and their heads popped up one after the other like boats bobbing on a wave. That made Abby the tsunami, she supposed. The office smelled of cheap coffee and fried pastries like it always did. A cardboard box sat next to the coffee machine, rings of grease and sugar the only sign left of its doughnut occupants. Abby wondered who’d had the salted caramel crème one, which was her favourite.

A hush had descended on the room, all eyes upon her. “Morning,” she said, and then she walked across to the coffee machine, found her mug that said, ‘instant lawyer, just add coffee’, and filled it with the bitter liquid. The words on the mug made her want to cry, because it already seemed like a different life. She went into her office, shut the door behind her. She probably wasn’t supposed to be in here, but she couldn’t stand the silent stares any longer. The police had clearly been through her things, because instead of being stacked neatly, her files were strewn across her desk. Her draws were open, and the only thing left of her laptop was the charging cable. Abby sank into her chair, put her coffee on top of one of the files, and looked at the chaos in dismay.

A moment later her door opened and Pike strode in. He was short but broad, a bulldog of a man. His bald head shone beneath the harsh fluorescent lights like polished mahogany. He stood looking at her, his fingers stroking his greying goatee.

“You’re not supposed to be in here. I asked the girl to bring you directly to me.”

“That’s what you get for sending an intern, I suppose,” said Abby, not in the mood for playing nice.

“Let’s go to my office.”

Abby took a sip of her coffee. “No, I think I’ll stay here.” She stretched out her long legs, leant back in her chair.

“This is not the attitude you should be showing, Abby,” said Pike, his fingers circling his beard and moustache obsessively as he contemplated his best move.

“Forgive me. Being dragged from my courtroom and accused of murder isn’t an everyday occurrence for me. It’s hard to know how to react.”

“One of our team is dead!” said Pike. “And you stand accused of it, and yet you waltz in here like nothing has happened and give me this goddamned attitude!”

Abby pushed back her chair and stood. “I did not ‘waltz in here’ as you say, I was summoned by you, and you didn’t have the courtesy to meet me yourself, just like you didn’t have the courtesy to have me arrested somewhere private. You deliberately made a spectacle of me!”

“I had no say in that!”

“Bullshit! You did it on purpose.”

“You killed Rafael! You don’t get to choose how and when you are arrested for that.”

“What happened to innocent until proven guilty? I didn’t kill him, and after all the years I’ve been here, and all the things I’ve done for you, I would have expected you to question this, even if only for a moment. How can you think I would do something like that?”

Their voices were raised now, and they were facing each other across the desk, their curled fists resting on the top. Abby noticed she was mirroring Pike, and she removed her hands, stood straighter.

“There’s overwhelming evidence, Abby,” Pike said in a quieter voice.

“It’s fabricated.”

Pike looked at her as though to say, ‘you would say that’, and Abby let out a frustrated sigh. There was no winning this argument. They’d never been close friends, but they knew each other well after ten years working together. She’d assumed he would at least find it difficult to believe she was capable of murder, but apparently not.

“What did you want to see me for?” she said, some of the fight going out of her.

Pike pulled himself up to his full height, which was only a couple of inches taller than Abby. He cleared his throat. “I have to inform you that you are suspended with pay while the criminal investigation is ongoing. You will also be subject to an investigation by the American Bar Association, which may result in your being served with an interim suspension of your licence. You cannot enter these premises again without an appointment and your pass has been revoked. You and your Counsel will receive a letter to this effect.”

He spoke matter-of-factly, showing no emotion, and Abby wondered if he’d ever liked her or cared for her at all, not that it mattered. How quickly your life could change, be turned upside down. It was shocking, and surreal. She’d done nothing wrong, but she was already presumed guilty in the eyes of her boss and her colleagues, the police, the public. The only person who thought she was innocent was Kane, and he was being paid to think that.

“Do you understand what I’ve just told you?” said Pike when she hadn’t answered him immediately.

“Yes. I understand,” said Abby with a resigned sigh.

“Then I will escort you out of the building.” He moved towards the door.

“Don’t I get to pack up my things?” said Abby, looking at the framed photos of her family that sat on her desk, the cards she’d received from the grateful families of victims whose killers she’d put away. Her good pen was in her drawer, the one she’d been given by Jake when she’d graduated Harvard. She opened the drawer, started to look for it.

“You can’t take anything with you,” said Pike.

“I need my pen,” said Abby, rummaging with increasing urgency as Pike approached.

He reached out to put his hand on her arm but she elbowed him away. “Don’t make me call security, Abby,” he said. “You don’t want that humiliation.”

“Why not?” she said, turning an angry gaze on him. “Things couldn’t get any worse!”

“They can get worse,” he said in a voice that was almost a whisper. “A lot worse.”

He pushed the drawer closed so that Abby had no choice but to pull her hand out or else it would get trapped.

“Not even my mug?” she said as Pike steered her towards the door.

“No,” he said firmly.

He escorted her through the door and back into the bullpen. The faces looking at her were hostile, and there were whispers that she couldn’t make out, but she could imagine what they were. They thought she’d killed one of their own, and they hated her. There wasn’t one kind face amongst them, and Abby was glad to get out of the DA’s office and back into the hallway. Pike took her all the way to the front door.

“I hope this is resolved quickly,” he said flatly as she opened the door. He didn’t say I hope you are cleared, or I’m sorry this is happening to you, Abby, or kiss my ass.

“Go to hell,” she said with one last glare, and then she walked out of the building and across to the park.

She had her head down, powering across the grass, her anger fuelling her pace, so she was completely unaware of her surroundings.

“Abby!”

A soft voice coming out of nowhere startled her and made her look up. There was no one there, but when she turned to her left she saw her assistant, Raven Reyes, a tender smile on her face.

“Raven! What are you...?” Abby didn’t get chance to finish her sentence before she was enveloped in the girl’s warm hug. Abby’s only comfort since this ordeal started had been the tentative arm of her nemesis, Kane, and she was overwhelmed by Raven’s gesture. Tears flowed, and she grabbed onto Raven as though she was a buoy in a rough sea.

Abby sobbed out her fear and frustration, dampening Raven’s red jacket with her tears.

“I’m so sorry, Abby,” Raven said when Abby finally let go.

Abby stroked Raven’s long, brown hair. “Thank you for that,” she said.

“For what?”

“For showing me kindness.”

“Oh, Abby!” Raven hugged her again. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I know.”

Raven led Abby to a bench and they sat side by side on it. “I heard you were coming here today, and I had to see you. Pike’s banned us from contacting you, but I tried and tried but your phone went straight to voicemail.”

“The police have it. I’m getting a new one later; I’ll send you the number.”

“Send it to my personal. Our work phones are being monitored.”

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry this is falling on you,” said Abby, shocked that Pike had instituted such measures. What did he think she was going to do? Corrupt the rest of his staff, or murder them all one by one?

“Don’t be silly. Pike’s an idiot. He’s been angry for days now, even before your arrest. I don’t know what’s eating him.”

“He thinks I’m guilty. Everybody does.”

“Not everybody.” Raven put her hand on Abby’s, laced her fingers through hers.

“Thank you, and thank you for contacting my mom.”

“Of course. Have you spoken to her?”

“Only briefly earlier this morning. She’s coming down to see me in a couple of days when her court case finishes. I can’t go and see her because I’m not allowed out of the state.”

“I can’t believe all of this,” said Raven, shaking her head.

“It’s crazy. I keep thinking I’m having some terrible nightmare, but you wake up from them, don’t you? There’s no waking up from this.”

“The truth has to come out, Abby.”

“That’s what Kane and I are focusing on, finding out who’s setting me up.”

“Oh, God, Kane, yes! I forgot about him. Poor you, having him as your lawyer.”

“He’s not so bad.”

“What?” said Raven, her incredulous face making Abby want to laugh.

“He’s arrogant...”

“You got that right.”

“Yeah, but that’s what I need, Raven. I need someone who’s going to play hardball for me, and if I didn’t think it before I certainly do now after seeing Pike. Everyone thinks I’m guilty, and I don’t want to go to prison for something I didn’t do.”

“I know, but Kane! How do you not want to hit him all the time?”

“He has his good points,” she said, remembering how he’d tried to comfort her in his clumsy way, and how she suspected he’d stayed in her hotel room so she wouldn’t wake up alone.

“He keeps ‘em well hidden,” said Raven.

“Yes,” replied Abby, unwilling to share the glimpses she’d had into Kane’s caring side, because it would mean telling Raven he’d spent the night, and even though it was entirely innocent, Abby now knew how innocent things could be misconstrued, and she wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

Raven sighed. “I’d better go. Don’t want Pike sending a search party for me.” She lifted Abby’s hand to her lips and kissed it. “Anything I can do to help, you let me know, okay?”

“There is something,” said Abby. “Can you get me some old case files, the ones relating to the two mobsters I put away last year?”

“Do you think that’s got something to do with this?”

“No, not really, but they did threaten me, so Kane thinks it’s worth looking into, and so do I.”

“I’ll do what I can. I’ll have to photocopy them. Pike will notice if they go missing.”

“I really appreciate this. Thanks, Raven.” Abby hugged her, and then watched as she crossed the park back to the office. Her spirits were lifted knowing Raven was on her side.

\---

Kane made it to his office by ten that day. When he’d got home after seeing Abby he’d tried to rest and get his day into something resembling a natural rhythm, but sleep hadn’t come. His brain was too wired after his conversation with her about who could be framing her, and so he’d got up and made a list of tasks to galvanise his team.

He hadn’t been to the office since he’d been hired as Abby’s defence, and his team were in the conference room, gathered around the large table. Sinclair and his other partner, David Miller, were holding forth. All conversation stopped and eyes turned on Kane when he entered the room.

Miller came towards him, shook his hand. “Two of New York’s most high-profile cases within a month,” he said. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“People want the best,” replied Kane, grinning.

“And yet they come to you,” said Sinclair, clapping him on the back. “Excellent news.”

“Not for the ADA.” Kane took a seat at the head of the table.

“How’s she holding up?” said Sinclair.

“Quite well given the circumstances.” Kane opened his briefcase, took out his notes. “She’s seeing Pike at midday.”

“What does he want?” Miller took a seat next to Kane, Sinclair on the other side.

“She’ll be suspended I expect.”

“Did she do it?” said an excited Jasper Jordan, one of his newly appointed junior associates.

“You know we don’t ask that,” growled Kane.

“No, but she did, right?”

“We’re operating on the assumption that she’s innocent, like we always do.” Kane passed out the notes he’d made earlier. “Here are my thoughts as they currently stand, and a list of jobs to be getting on with. Divide them up as you see fit.”

The associates grabbed his notes, each one looking for the best job or the easiest depending on their proclivities. The noise level grew in the room, and Kane banged on the table to shut them up.

“Before you fight each other for who gets to make me my morning coffee, I want to reiterate what I always say. Nothing leaves this office. No gossiping, no off the record conversations. If anything leaks, I’ll know it’s one of you, and you’ll all be fired. I don’t care if that’s unfair, it’s how it is.”

“Yes, Sir,” they chorused. They were used to his demands by now, but it was the only way to keep a tight ship. It also encouraged them to work together, because although he threatened to punish them all, he also rewarded them all, but only if everyone pulled their weight. His strategy had worked well until now, and he had no reason to suspect this case would be any different.

“ADA Griffin is our client now. She’s not the opposition. She’s not to be disrespected. Is that clear?”

Kane gathered up his remaining papers. “There’ll be a conference at three where I want your ideas, and a report on any progress.”

The associates left and Kane was alone with Miller and Sinclair. “She says she’s being framed, and I believe her,” he said to their astonishment.

“You actually think she’s innocent?” said Miller.

“I do.”

“This isn’t because she’s a good-looking woman, is it?” said Sinclair, one eyebrow raised.

“What do you take me for?” said Kane, and he ignored the look that passed between his partners. “You don’t have to agree, but I have a couple of names here I want you to investigate.”

“The DA prosecuted these men last year,” said Sinclair, looking at Kane’s note. “Seemed fairly straightforward.”

“Yes, but they received threats afterwards, and Abby was named. She claims it was a loose network of criminals rather than an organised gang, but I’m not sure. I want to know everything about them.”

“No problem,” said Miller and he left the conference room.

“I’ve found your uncle’s business,” said Sinclair. “And I’ve picked up the start of a couple of trails, but nothing concrete to report yet.”

“That’s good work for such a short time. Just keep me informed verbally.”

The two men left the room side by side. When it came to the point where Sinclair would split off to the right to go to his office, and Kane to the left, Sinclair stopped, put a hand on Kane’s arm.

“Don’t let a pretty face and a pair of killer legs fool you,” he said, referring to Abby. “Everyone has secrets, and we’re all capable of anything.”

“She’s much more than that,” replied Kane, “but it doesn’t matter if I think she’s guilty or innocent, does it? The defence is the same.”

“Just keep it professional,” said Sinclair, giving Kane a knowing look, and then he strode away towards his office.

Kane passed by Harper’s desk on his way to his own office. He dropped a file on top of a teetering pile of buff folders. “Can you arrange for my notes from Abby’s interview to be typed up, and I also want you to start pestering the police and the DA’s office for access to the evidence they claim to have.”

“They won’t give it to us yet,” she said, picking up the file and flicking through it. She looked at him with exasperation. “The secretaries are going to moan about your handwriting again.”

Kane dug in his pocket for some bills and handed them to Harper. “Buy them some cakes or whatever it is they’re eating these days, and I know they won’t give it to us, but the sooner we start pestering, the quicker we’ll wear them down.”

He entered his office and sank into his big leather chair. He hadn’t opened his laptop in two days, and his inbox was overflowing, mainly with queries about Abby. He diverted his calls to Harper and got to work bringing the number of emails down to a manageable level.

He managed to work uninterrupted for a few hours until his door opened and Harper walked in, followed closely by a stony-faced Abby.

“ADA Griffin to see you,” Harper said, pulling a mock worried face at him which Abby wouldn’t be able to see.

“Thank you, Harper.”

Kane stood and gestured to Abby. “Do you want to take a seat?”

“No. I’m too annoyed.” She paced in front of his desk and Kane wasn’t sure if she was working herself up into a fury or trying to calm herself down.

“What’s happened?” he said, although he was pretty sure he knew.

“I’ve been suspended!”

“You must have known that was inevitable, Abby.”

“Well, yes, but it’s the way he did it.”

“Pike’s an ass,” said Kane.

“Yes.” Abby sighed and flopped into the chair on the other side of his desk. Kane returned to his own chair. “He’s banned me from the office, won’t let anyone speak to me, wouldn’t let me take any of my possessions, not even my mug!”

She looked so outraged, particularly at the last part, that Kane had to suppress a smile, even though he knew this must have been a terrible thing to go through. He didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t practice law anymore. Who would he be without it?

“You can get new things,” he said.

“Some of them were very personal, and important to me.” She let her head drop towards her chest.

“Of course. I have some good news at least.”

She lifted her head slowly as though it were a heavy weight. “Yeah?”

“I have a new phone for you.” He slid the iPhone Harper had got for Abby across the table to her. “And the police have released your briefcase from evidence, so Harper is going to collect it for you later today.”

She didn’t look as happy as he’d thought she would at this news. “What do I need a briefcase for now?” she said, her face set in a pout.

“You can keep this month’s copy of New York Law Journal in it. Take me with you wherever you go.”

She tutted, but there was the briefest hint of a smile. “Anyway,” she said, putting her hands on the arms of the chair and pushing herself up. “I have to go. I want to get home before rush hour starts.”

“Rush hour? It’s a ten-minute walk!”

“I mean home, home, to Greenwich Village.”

She was halfway to the door before Kane caught up with her having leapt from his chair. “You’re not going home.”

She turned an unamused face towards him. “What? I am!”

“No, Abby. I’ve booked you into the hotel for a reason. You’ll be...”

“Well, I’m bored there,” she interrupted. “I want my things. I want my life back.”

“Your life has changed!”

“I know! And that’s why I need something familiar, some comfort.” She opened the door and walked out into the main office, leaving Kane no choice but to follow her.

“Abby, you’re not thinking straight. Last I heard there were journalists everywhere. They’ll be waiting for you.”

“I can handle them,” she said, powering her way towards the elevator.

“Not without me you’re not.” Kane looked for Harper, saw her talking to another associate. He shouted to her as he followed Abby. “Harper, call my car service, get them to meet me outside as soon as they can.”

“I don’t need your car. The subway is perfectly adequate.” Abby jabbed at the elevator call button repeatedly as though that would make it come any quicker.

“Your face is all over the news, the internet, on goddamned billboards probably. You can’t go and sit on public transport; you’re asking for trouble.”

The elevator pinged and the doors opened. Kane followed Abby into the car. He had no briefcase, no jacket, not even his phone which was still sitting on his desk. This woman! If he paused for a second she’d be gone and God alone knew what would happen to her. She had no idea how much of a news story she was. He was worried that if some criminal recognised her on the subway she’d be in physical danger.

“Fine,” she said as the elevator descended. That was the last word either of them spoke until they were in the car and on their way to the village.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We visit Abby's home and Kane gets more than he bargained for!

Traffic was light for once as they drove along Sixth Avenue towards Greenwich Village, and Kane only had to endure fifteen minutes of a mostly stony silence from Abby. It wasn’t him she was angry with, so he took it in his stride. She played with her new phone to pass the time, adding contacts to it. He saw her take his card out of her purse, enter his number. He half expected her to list it under some terrible name, like Pain in my Ass, or Annoying One, but she simply stored it under Kane.

Kane looked out of the window, watching the world go slowly by. He didn’t know the Village well, although there was a jazz club just off Sixth he liked to frequent. The Empire State Building was visible in the distance, towering above the surrounding buildings. He wondered if Abby had a view of it from her town house. He was curious to see where she lived, what she surrounded herself with. Her choice of Greenwich Village was telling. It had always been trendy amongst hippy types, the so-called counterculture movement. It fit with Abby’s liberal sensibilities. She probably thought of herself as subversive, whereas in reality she worked for the man, and if anyone was subversive it was Kane, who liked to stick it to the authorities in the form of the state legislature every chance he got.

“Drive as slowly as you can when you enter West Twelfth Street,” he said to his driver. “Then turn onto Fifth and go back around.”

Abby’s street was narrow and tree-lined, well as tree-lined as a street in the centre of New York could be. In Ithaca vegetation was everywhere, even in most of the downtown streets. He missed that. Sometimes. He saw Abby sit forward in her seat, noticed her shoulders tense, so they must be approaching her building. Kane scanned the sidewalk. Cars were parked nose to tail down one side of the street, and the other side was quiet except for a small group of people outside a narrow five-storey red brick building. Some were talking amongst themselves as the car passed, others looked bored.

“Oh, God,” said Abby, the first words she’d uttered the entire journey. “There’s loads of them.”

Kane had counted seven people he thought were journalists, which he wouldn’t describe as loads, but he suspected there were others sitting in cars.

“Keep moving,” he said to the driver.

They continued down the road, around the corner onto Fifth and Kane saw there was a parking space ahead. “Pull up,” he said.

He turned to Abby. “It’s best we go back to the hotel. If you want some things, I can send Harper to get them for you.”

“No. I’m not hiding from a few journalists.”

“It’s a few now, but it will be a scrum once they realise you’re here.”

“I can handle it.”

He could tell she was determined from the set of her jaw. “Okay, but please don’t get out of the car without me.”

She nodded.

“Back around please and then pull up outside forty-three,” he said to the driver.

The driver took them around the block, and they pulled up outside Abby’s townhouse. The journalists all turned to look at the car. They couldn’t see in because of the tinted windows, but Kane could see from their faces that they were getting excited. It must have been boring for them standing here for two days with no activity. They were about to give them something to write about.

He got out of the car and walked around to Abby’s side. He was just as recognisable to a certain type of journalist as Abby was, so he could hear his name passed between them as he reached for Abby’s door. Car doors were opening up and down the street, and more people were running towards them. He pulled the door open quickly, reached in to help her out. Flashlights popped as she stepped into the street, and everyone started shouting at once.

“Did you kill him, Abby?”

“Is it true he was threatening you?”

“Tell us what happened, Abby!”

“What’s it like to be on the other side of the law?”

Kane put his arm around her and pushed through the crowd. There was a wrought iron gate and he fumbled with it, pushing it open and entering a small courtyard. Potted shrubs hid them from view temporarily, but it was only a moment before the journalists followed them through. Abby dropped her key and Kane bent to pick it up, inserted it into the lock and ushered her through the door, slamming it behind him. He hoped he’d caught one of them in the face when he did it.

They were in a long room with a dining table and chairs and some kind of sitting room at the end of it. There was a set of wooden stairs opposite them, leading to the upper floors. People were knocking on the door and ringing the bell. Kane went to the front window, pulled the blind so they couldn’t see in.

Abby marched up the stairs and Kane followed. They arrived in what must be her living room, because it had a library, and a sofa and chairs beneath two huge windows. The police had been in here; her books were scattered across the wooden floor, and the sofa cushions were piled on the rug. Black fingerprint dust was everywhere.

“Oh, God!” said Abby. She picked her way through the discarded books towards the living area, then stopped and just stared.

Kane picked up the sofa cushions, returned them to their rightful place.

Abby sank onto them. She put her hands over her eyes, sat with her elbows resting on her knees. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered.

Kane stood in front of her, looking down on her golden-brown head. He wasn’t used to having a client like Abby. Most of his clients were only interested in how he could get them off their charges. They didn’t despair over how or why they were in a mess; they knew why, because they were guilty. They didn’t look to him for emotional support, which was just as well, because it wasn’t something he was good at giving. Abby was a passionate, emotional person. He’d seen that in court, and she wasn’t above using it to her advantage, knowing how to kindle emotions in jurors that Kane had no hope of ever doing. She was emotional now, but in a different way. She seemed lost. Defeated. He wasn’t sure what to do for the best.

“We’ll get through it,” he said, settling for a platitude.

She wiped her eyes. “Yes.”

Kane held out his hand and she let him pull her up. “You know you can’t stay here for a while, don’t you,” he said, as gently as he could. He still had hold of her hand, and she gripped it tightly for a moment, and nodded, and then she let him go.

“I’ll get what I need,” she said. She went into the small kitchen, stood looking at the chaos and sighed. “I like to cook. It helps me think. I can’t cook in a hotel room.” She righted a few jars, tidied some pans away, and then gave up, because there was too much to do, and she clearly didn’t have the energy.

“You can cook for me anytime,” said Kane, trying to cheer her up.

She stared at him in reply.

Kane felt himself get warm beneath her gaze. “You can use my place, I mean. If it helps,” he added, not wanting her to think he was taking advantage of her.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not unless you’re a terrible cook.”

That made her smile. “I’m an excellent cook.”

“Then I’ll look forward to sampling it.”

“I suppose I do owe you a dinner, after you had to leave your steak or whatever it was when I was inconveniently arrested.” She moved up another flight of stairs, and Kane followed again.

“It was filet mignon, and if you can make that even half as well as Landmarc I’ll do anything for you, legally speaking.”

He heard her small laugh as she headed into what he presumed was her bedroom. It was an elegant room, with pale lilac walls and white linen. She had a series of paintings of ballerinas on the wall. Black and white and arty.

“I heard you were easy, Kane, but I wouldn’t have guessed all it took was a filet steak.”

He grinned. This was more like the Abby he’d come to know and grudgingly respect. “Throw in twice-cooked French fries and you can have a free pass. Anything you want. I’ll do it.”

“Can you get me off a trumped-up murder case?” She looked at him wryly.

“That’s a given. Give me something harder than that.” He stood and watched as she pulled out a suitcase and started to fill it with clothes and books. She was smiling, and it made him feel good.

“I’ll think about it.” She pulled another bag from under her bed and took that and the suitcase out onto the landing.

“Have you lived here a long time?” said Kane, standing outside the bathroom door while she put toiletries into a flowery bag.

“Five years. I rented before that.”

So she owned this? Kane was taken aback. It must be worth seven or eight million dollars. His condo had cost him just under seven million, but he was in a more expensive district. He’d worked hard to get that, and Abby was a prosecutor, with its notoriously poor pay. She must use her parents’ money, despite what she’d said about not wanting to be beholden to them.

She narrowed her eyes as she walked past him. “My father left me some money, and I invested it wisely,” she said.

Kane grew warm again. She’d known what he was thinking; it must have been in his face, which was annoying, because he liked to think he was inscrutable.

“I wasn’t thinking...”

“Right.” Her look told him what she thought of his lie. She took a painting of a Boston cityscape down from the wall and stacked it next to the suitcase. “I want something familiar to look at,” she said in response to Kane’s raised eyebrow.

“You have the city of New York outside your window!”

“I know, but I want something from home.”

“We’re going to need to hire a van at this rate.”

Abby ignored his comment. “I don’t think there’s anything on the upper floors I want,” she said.

“It’s a lot of space for one person,” said Kane, even though it had the same number of bedrooms as his condo.

“I need room for all the men I pick up when I’m on the corner of Canal and Bowery,” she said, referencing his comment to her when he was annoyed that she’d lied to him.

“Touché,” he said, granting her the win.

“I bought it for the terrace mainly.”

“Can I see it?” said Kane.

“You want to see the terrace? Why?”

“It will be useful to see where you were and put in context what you were doing that Sunday. Sometimes it triggers a memory or a feeling that you’ve buried or forgotten.”

“Oh, okay. Yes.”

She led him up more stairs and at the top was a small landing and a doorway. She stepped through and Kane followed. To his left was a wooden pergola with vines growing over it and an outdoor table and chairs beneath.

“This is where I was sitting,” she said, taking Kane into a small decked area with dwarf trees and potted plants.

He could imagine her lying on the sun lounger beneath the shade, working on her cases. The top of the Empire State Building was just visible, so she did have a view of it. It was all very tranquil and calming and attractive.

“I can’t hear the intercom from here, so I have an app on my phone, and that shows me who is calling, but I’d switched it off because I was annoyed by his texts.” She sat on one of the sun loungers, and Kane perched on the adjacent one.

“You said in your reply that he knew what he’d done. What was it?” he said.

Abby leant her head against the back of the sun lounger, looked into the distance. “It was after I’d told him I didn’t want to take the relationship further. He’d seemed okay at first, and then he started sending texts asking to see me. I wasn’t in the office much at that time because I was in court with the Romano case, so I didn’t see him in person. Then he turned up outside the court.”

“When was that?”

“Just before the end of the trial. He started off nice saying he’d missed me and it was good to see me, and then when I said that I wanted him to respect my wish for him to give me space and to stop texting me he turned. He said I had no right to dump him, that it should be him dumping me if anything and that he didn’t know what he’d seen in me, I was old and dried up, and he probably would have struggled to get it up anyway.” She glanced at Kane with a pained expression.

“He said that?”

“Yes.”

“Did anybody hear it? Were there witnesses to this?”

“No, I don’t think so. He’d cornered me in the park, and there were people walking past but no one I knew. I doubt anyone would have heard it or remembered it.”

“You never know. We can canvas the area over a few days, see if anyone remembers. What was the exact date and time?”

“It was the Tuesday before the trial ended. I remember because you’d tried to get the blood evidence excluded but I won that one, and I was feeling good when I left the courtroom.”

“Ah, yes. I dropped the ball on that one.”

“No, I beat you,” she said, fixing him with a determined stare.

“I was having an off day.”

“Why can’t you admit that I was better than you?”

“I have a fragile masculine ego,” said Kane, grinning at her.

“You’re impossible!”

“It has been said. Anyway, back to that day. Court ended at four I think, so that would put you in the park around half an hour later, does that sound right?”

“Yes, that sounds about right.”

“Okay, then we’ll send my people out to the park every day between four and five and see if we can find someone who remembers you with Rafael.”

“I guess it won’t do any harm.” Abby stood, and Kane stood with her. “I just have a few things I want from my study and then we can go.”

They went down five flights of stairs, Abby with her holdall and Kane lugging her suitcase, the painting tucked beneath his arm. There were still people knocking on the door and shouting.

“Bastards!” said Abby as they walked past the dining table.

“I’d say you’ll be yesterday’s news, but I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.”

“You’re a ray of sunshine, Kane,” said Abby as she led him down yet another set of stairs. How many floors were there in this building?

“I tell it how it is, that’s all. Do you want me to sugar coat everything for you?”

“No. I want you to tell me the truth. Always.” She walked over to her desk which was set so it looked out over a small garden room and started rummaging through her drawers. “Oh!” she exclaimed, looking up at him brightly, an expensive-looking pen in her hand.

“What’s that?”

“I thought I’d left it at work, but it was here all along.”

“Is it important?” Other than being expensive Kane couldn’t see what was special about the pen.

“It was given to me by a very special person a long time ago.” She looked lovingly at the pen, twirled it in her fingers.

“Your father?” said Kane, curious as to who this special person was.

“No.” Abby stood, slipped the pen into her bag. She packed some files into the holdall and selected a number of books from a large cabinet crammed with them. She obviously didn’t want to tell Kane who the special person was, so he didn’t ask. He’d probably discover it during the more in-depth research on her he had to do as part of his defence strategy.

“Okay, I have everything, I think.” Abby stood in front of Kane with her bulging holdall.

“Time to brave the journalists again,” he said.

“We can go out of the garden room here, but there’s some climbing to do.” Abby opened the back door and Kane followed her through.

“What do you mean there’s climbing to do? Oh.” They were in a small courtyard beneath the street level, facing a large brick wall. “You can’t mean climbing up that?”

“I think it’s doable if you stand on the flowerbed.” She handed Kane her holdall then stepped up onto a wooden plinth. “You might have to give me a boost.”

Kane looked at the height of Abby, and the height of the wall. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. Come on, Kane. I’m sure you’ve crept over your fair share of walls before, escaping from some woman’s irate husband.”

What did she think of him? It was his own fault if she thought the worst; he didn’t exactly discourage the rumours about his reputation.

Kane stood on the plinth behind Abby. “I’ll have to touch you,” he said, in case she wasn’t comfortable with that thought after what had happened to her.

She turned to look at him with a soft smile. “It’s okay.”

“I’ll try and lift you then.” Kane put his hands on Abby’s slim hips, then bent his knees and put all his strength into lifting her. She weighed next to nothing, and he was able to get her high enough for her to grab hold of the top of the wall. She scrambled against the brick and managed to pull herself up and over.

“Pass up the bags.” Abby reached down and Kane passed her the holdall and the suitcase and then the painting. She hauled them all up and over the wall. “Now for you.”

Kane stood back and eyed up the wall again. He reckoned if he jumped, he could reach it. Whether he had the strength to pull himself up like Abby had was another matter. He was bigger and clumsier than her.

“Come on!” she hissed impatiently.

“Alright!” Here goes nothing, thought Kane. He jumped and grabbed the top of the wall, then hung there for a moment. Abby’s hand closed around his wrist, and she tried to pull him, but he was heavy, and she wasn’t making much progress. Kane got a toe in a gap in the wall, giving him a foothold, and then through a combination of will and Abby’s help, he was up and over the wall, landing in a heap in a dirty narrow alleyway.

Kane got up, dusted down his Armani suit. His shoes were scuffed and covered in brick dust. “Damnit!” he said in dismay. They were expensive, and Italian made. Not easy to get hold of.

Abby was standing with her arms folded looking amused.

“I think that counts as your free pass,” said Kane as he picked up her suitcase.

“Oh, no way! I did most of the work there!”

“Like hell you did. Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“I left mine in the office, and I need to call the driver and tell him to meet us on Thirteenth Street.”

Abby handed him the phone and Kane called his driver while they weaved their way along the alley, tall buildings looming either side of them. They saw nothing except a rat Kane thought was the size of a small dog. They emerged further down Abby’s street close to its junction with Sixth Avenue.

“That was fun,” Abby said, smiling broadly at him.

“You definitely owe me dinner,” replied Kane.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby has lunch with her mom, and Kane hears some interesting news

Abby hurried along Broadway two days later. The Indian Summer seemed to have disappeared now that October was here, and she had a thin blue cardigan over her grey dress. If she didn’t get to Landmarc restaurant in the next three minutes she’d be officially late, and her mom detested lateness.

“I’ve driven four hours from Boston and managed to get here on time, Abigail,” she’d say. “You only had to walk around the corner.”

Abby was taking a risk meeting her mother for lunch here, because it was next door to the New York Law School, and popular with lawyers and professors. There was bound to be someone she knew inside, but that was true of most places in Lower Manhattan. She’d chosen it because it was where Kane had been eating the night he’d been called out to spring her from The Tombs, and she wanted to test their filet mignon for when she cooked the dinner she owed him. He’d laid down the gauntlet to her when they were in her home, and she was determined to confound his expectations and produce something at least as good as what they served here. To do that, she had to check out her competition.

Abby pushed open the door and scanned the restaurant. Elizabeth Griffin-Wallace was sitting in the far corner in a private booth, her red-brown head bent over a menu. Her hair was swept up into a tidy bun as usual, and she lifted her head, turned her shrewd brown eyes on Abby as she approached. Abby saw her glance at her watch and then she stood, smoothing down her white skirt.

“Hello, mom,” said Abby, emotion welling up in her now that her mom was finally within touching distance.

“Hello, darling,” said Elizabeth. She stepped forward and Abby was enveloped in a warm hug. She buried her face in her mom’s neck, the flowery scent of her perfume comforting and familiar. Tears fell, and she gripped her mom tighter.

“Thank you for coming,” she whispered.

“Of course I was going to come, as soon as I could.” Elizabeth pulled back, held Abby at arm’s length. “Now, now. That’s enough of that. No more tears.” She handed Abby a lace-edged handkerchief and Abby took it and wiped her eyes. She went to hand it back to her mother. “No, you keep it, dear,” said Elizabeth.

Elizabeth sat, and folded her long, elegant legs beneath the table. Abby took a seat opposite her.

“How was the journey down?” she said.

“Oh, it was fine. Dante drove, so I just stared out of the window. Did you know you can get these podcast things on your phone? I listened to an excellent one on the history of the judicial system in England.”

“Dante’s here?” Abby looked towards the door, expecting her stepfather to walk through it.

“He has a gala this evening, and he said he’d drive me. He isn’t coming to lunch. This is mother-daughter time.” Elizabeth smiled, and lines appeared in her carefully powdered face.

Abby hadn’t seen her mom in a few months, eight or nine maybe, as they’d both been knee deep in court cases. Elizabeth looked older somehow. She’d still pass for sixty, which was ten years younger than her actual age, but close up her eyes were tired and puffy, and her skin was starting to lose its elasticity, the famous cheekbones Abby had inherited becoming softer, less pronounced. Looking at her mother had always been like looking in the mirror, and Abby had a flashforward to herself at seventy. Would she still be in jail then, if she was convicted? The thought of losing all the years that lay between her and her mother to the New York penal system terrified her, and for the first time since she was arrested the reality of her situation sunk in. She felt sick.

“Are you alright, darling?” said Elizabeth. “You look peaky.”

Abby pushed the thought down, because if she only had a few months left of freedom she wasn’t going to waste them thinking about prison.

“I’m fine, mom. Hungry, actually.” She smiled at her mother, and Elizabeth nodded, looking down her long, straight nose at her daughter.

They sat in silence while they perused the menu. Abby took a sip of water, looked at her mom. It was so good to have her here, even if it was only for a short time.

“How’s your lawyer, Kane, doing?” Elizabeth took off her glasses, placed them on top of her menu.

“He’s been good so far. Thank you for hiring him.”

“He’s the best we could find.”

“I know. I’ve been in court with him a few times. Have yet to win against him.”

“He was before me once,” said Elizabeth, signalling to a waiter.

“Really?” Abby was surprised to hear this; Kane hadn’t mentioned he knew her mother.

“Yes. I ruled against him and his client, some fraudster, clearly guilty.”

“I bet he wasn’t happy about that.”

“No. Tried to argue his case. I nearly charged him with contempt.”

Abby laughed. “I’d have liked to see that.”

“Arrogant man, I thought, but clever. He’s what you need.”

The waiter came over and took their orders. Elizabeth raised her well-manicured eyebrows when she heard Abby’s order.

“Steak, darling? That’s a little rich, isn’t it?” Elizabeth had ordered a salad, like she always did.

“I’m low on iron,” said Abby, who wasn’t going to tell her mother why she’d ordered it. There was no reason not to, but it didn’t feel right, like her cooking a meal for Kane could be misconstrued.

“Then have some kale, dear.”

“I’m fine with the steak.” Abby fixed her mother with a determined look. It didn’t always work on her, but Elizabeth was obviously feeling generous today, because she simply nodded.

The waiter brought Elizabeth a club soda and Abby a glass of pinot grigio. Abby took a large sip, let the wine warm her veins.

“I was suspended from my job the other day,” she said. The news wouldn’t be a surprise to Elizabeth, as she knew the justice system better than anyone, but it was humiliating having to tell her.

“That was inevitable.” There was a hard edge to Elizabeth’s voice that hadn’t been there earlier. Here we go, thought Abby. Her mother had been polite so far, but Abby had no doubt she was angry at the situation she found herself in.

“Pike didn’t even give me a chance to explain,” said Abby.

“I’m not surprised. I’ve read Kane’s reports, and the evidence is damning, Abigail.”

“I didn’t do it, though! I thought he would at least make an attempt to believe me.”

Elizabeth put down her glass, turned a steely gaze on Abby. “He deals in facts, as do we all, and the facts are that on paper you look guilty. You have to face up to that, dear.”

Abby stared at Elizabeth. It had never occurred to her before now that her mom might think she was guilty too. Oh, God! Was there no one in the whole world except Kane and Raven who thought she was innocent?

She had to swallow hard to lubricate her throat before she spoke. “You believe I’m innocent, though, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. You’re my daughter.”

That answer wasn’t as reassuring as Abby thought it would be. “Not just because I’m your daughter, though?”

“What other reason do I have? Look at the evidence.”

“I’m being framed,” said Abby in a quiet voice.

“I know that, dear. I believe you, I really do, but we haven’t hired Kane to fight for your innocence. We’ve hired him to get you off this no matter what. It looks bad, and if it takes a technicality, which is his speciality, then that’s what it takes.”

“Then I’ll be thought of as guilty for the rest of my life!” Abby was horrified by her mom’s reasoning. She wanted to be found not guilty because she wasn’t, not because Kane found a loophole!

“It’s better than being in prison for the rest of your life.”

The waiter chose that moment to appear with their lunch, and Abby looked at her steak without enthusiasm.

“I told you it was too rich,” said Elizabeth, who was watching Abby closely.

“It looks lovely,” said Abby, and she forked a piece into her mouth just to spite her mother. It was more than lovely, in fact. The crust was charred and salty, and the meat rich. She’d chosen a bordelaise sauce and it was sticky and intense. “Oh, God,” she said.

“You’re like your father for food,” said Elizabeth, chewing delicately on some swiss chard.

“Luckily I inherited his metabolism as well,” said Abby as she ate another slice of the beef.

They ate in silence for a while. Abby was trying not to think about her mother’s reasoning for hiring Kane. It was too early to be talking trial strategy with him; they’d been concentrating on finding supporting evidence of their own and looking into who might be framing Abby. Her mother was right; Abby had been naïve, trusting in her own innocence, that the truth would magically come out. It might, but what if it didn’t? What then?

“How’s Cage?” said Abby, deciding to change the subject while they were eating.

“Still looking for a job,” said Elizabeth in a distasteful tone.

“He’s twenty-six!” said Abby. “What’s he waiting for?”

“He has a notional position with Dante at one of his firms, but I’ve yet to see him spend much time in the office.”

Abby shook her head. She couldn’t understand her stepbrother’s attitude. Abby had grown up surrounded by wealth but she’d worked hard since an early age to earn her own money and be independent. Cage seemed content to spend his father’s money and do nothing to earn his own. Dante indulged him, which didn’t help matters. It was a bone of contention between him and Elizabeth that often led to arguments behind closed doors.

“Dante needs to force his hand. Make him look after himself.”

“He’ll never do that, dear.”

Abby ate some French fries. They were good but she was sure she could do better. She had a recipe that was fool proof, but it was at home. She could find it online, perhaps, or ask Kane’s assistant to get it for her.

Abby managed to eat half her meal, and then she laid down her knife and fork. She took another sip of her wine, watched her mother as she ate the last of her salad. She wondered how news of her arrest had gone down in Boston, whether it was affecting her mother at work. Elizabeth was a typical New Englander, keeping everything inside, maintaining an outward appearance of calm serenity. If the house was burning around her she’d say “Everything’s fine, dear,” even as the flames licked her ankles.

“I’m sorry for the trouble I’m causing you,” said Abby.

“What were you thinking, darling, with that young man?” Elizabeth frowned at Abby.

“It wasn’t how they’re making it out to be. It was just a few dates, not even that really.” This was starting to become her mantra now. Just a few dates. Just a few dates. A few dates that had somehow resulted in a young man losing his life, and Abby in danger of losing her liberty. What for?

“A junior, though, dear. It shows very poor judgement.”

“I was... lonely, I guess. It was more friendship.”

“Not to him, clearly. Are there not enough men in New York your own age?”

“None that I’ve met in a long time, but it wasn’t just that. He kind of reminded me of Jake, and it was the anniversary. I... I liked him. I didn’t think about our working relationship.”

“You didn’t think at all!” Elizabeth’s eyes glinted with her anger, and then she sighed, and her tone softened. “Jake was a long time ago, sweetheart. You have to let him go.”

“I have. I do. I’ve dated since, plenty of times. There’s just never been anyone special.”

“Because you’re always looking for what you had with him. You were young, and your passion was strong. It’s not like that when you get older. You’re not going to be someone’s everything again, and you won’t find someone who is everything to you either.”

“That’s a very pessimistic view of life and love, mom.”

“Is it? You’re thirty-eight in a few weeks. Where’s this perfect man going to come from? He’s probably already married with three kids. The most you can hope for is to be his bit on the side.”

“Then I’ll be on my own. I’m fine with that.” Abby drained the rest of her drink, put the glass down hard on the table.

“Are you? Because you just told me you risked your career to go out with a junior associate because you were lonely. And look where that has led!”

“I could hardly have anticipated this!” Abby’s voice had grown in volume because she was annoyed that her mother was blaming her for Rafael’s behaviour and also annoyed that she was right, mostly.

Diners at the tables closest to them turned to look, and Abby saw recognition bloom in their eyes, heard her name whispered.

“Can we go?” she said. “People are starting to talk.”

Elizabeth looked around, saw the gossiping faces. “You have to brazen these things out, Abigail,” she said, but she gathered her things together.

Abby stood outside while her mother paid the bill. When she exited the restaurant they walked slowly down Broadway towards Franklin, stopping on the corner.

“Do you want to come to the hotel for a coffee?” said Abby.

“I can’t, darling. There’s a gala tonight I have to prepare for. I told you.”

“Oh, yes. I forgot.” Abby was disappointed despite her mother’s annoyance with her. She was right to be annoyed and upset and angry. Abby was all of those things with herself. It came from love, and from her mother’s unwavering loyalty to the truth. She always spoke plainly, no matter what. It was hard to hear sometimes, especially when you are a young girl trying to work out who you are in the world, but it had made Abby resilient, and tough. Her mother didn’t sugar coat anything. She was like Kane in that way, and Abby appreciated her straight talking. She didn’t agree with it all the time, but at least she knew where she was with people like Elizabeth and Kane.

“We can breakfast in the morning if you like, before I have to go back to Boston. Dante and I will come to your hotel.”

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

Elizabeth nodded, and then she held out her arms to Abby and she sunk into them. “I love you more than anything in the world, you know that,” she whispered.

“I know. I love you too.”

“I’ll do anything for you, and so will Dante, and so will Kane. Trust us. Trust him. Do what he says; whatever it takes.” She pulled back, put her hands either side of Abby’s face. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” said Abby fighting back a sob.

“Good girl. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She kissed Abby’s cheek, and then she hailed a passing cab. She raised a regal hand at Abby as the cab pulled away.

Abby waved back. She was exhausted after that lunch. It had been comforting and painful at the same time, which pretty much summed up her relationship with her mother. One thing was clear; she had to examine herself critically, face up to what she’d done and why, and figure out what she wanted to do next.

\---

Kane was still in his office when his phone rang and he saw it was Abby. “Marcus Kane,” he said.

“It’s Abby,” was all she said in reply.

Her voice was low and flat. Unenthusiastic. She probably wasn’t happy at having to be constantly in touch with him.

Kane tried to be upbeat. “Hi. How was lunch with your mom?”

There was a brief silence before she spoke. “Difficult.”

“In what way?”

She sighed but didn’t elaborate.

“Is she upset with her little girl?” said Kane, deliberately provoking her. He could picture Abby rolling her eyes at him.

“You’re an ass,” she said.

“We’ve established that.”

“She wasn’t happy with me, no, but I guess it’s all deserved.”

“You’ve made a mistake, that’s all.”

“She said I’d shown poor judgement over Rafael.”

“Well, you have,” replied Kane, and he heard Abby laugh softly.

“I knew you’d agree with her.”

“She’s a sensible woman.”

“She told me you’d had a case in front of her. You never said.”

“Ah, yes. Well, I lost, so I’ve conveniently erased that from my memory.” Kane sat back in his chair, his phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear. He swivelled his chair so he could look out of the window at the street below.

“I didn’t know you could lose.”

“Once or twice, on the rare occasion I’ve come up against a good opposing counsel.” He smiled to himself in anticipation of her response. Her low, throaty laugh didn’t disappoint.

“You know, when I was arrested, I half wondered if it was you who was dead, and they thought I’d killed you because of your article.”

It was Kane’s turn to laugh. It was surprisingly gratifying to hear her make a joke out of her situation. “I think you’d be in a long line of potential suspects.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Are you spending the rest of your day with your mother?”

“No, she has some gala event tonight. I’m going to spend the afternoon with the law reports, looking for precedents. I’ll be having breakfast with her and my stepfather, though.”

Kane’s ears pricked up at the mention of Dante Wallace. He was further up on his list of suspects than he’d let on to Abby, and an opportunity to size the man up was not to be missed.

“I could join you,” he said. “It would be good to meet your stepfather, and to see your mother again.”

“We’re not dating, Kane. There’s no need for you to meet my parents.” Abby’s tone was amused and light.

“No, but they’re involved in this case, however tangentially. I have to interview them at some point to do my due diligence on you. This would be a good introduction.”

She sighed then. “I don’t want this turning into an interview, or a character assassination of me. I just want to spend some time with my mom.”

“You will. They’ll probably be grateful for the chance to look me over as well, to make sure they’ve done their best for you. I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise.” He was determined she wasn’t going to scupper this opportunity, but wanted to avoid dictating to her if possible, because she didn’t react well to ultimatums.

“Fine,” she said after a pause. “But you’re just going to eat breakfast, be polite, and then go.”

“I will take up as little of your time as I can.” Kane smiled at her attitude, and his success.

“Eight o’clock then, at my hotel,” she said grumpily.

“I’ll see you then.”

Kane disconnected the call and then dialled Harper. “Get me the file on Dante Wallace,” he said when she answered. “And tell Kyle and that Jasper idiot to find out as much as they can about Charles Griffin of Boston. He’s Abby’s father; was a prominent lawyer. I need it by close of play.”

Kane made a few notes while he waited for Harper to bring the file. He wanted as much ammunition as possible on Dante Wallace before he met him for the first time. He might plant a few landmines during the breakfast, see if the man stood on them, and if they would explode.


	11. Chapter 11

Kane was up early the following day, going over the notes he’d made from his file on Dante Wallace and the information his juniors had found on Charles Griffin. He’d known Dante was a client of Abby’s father, but was surprised to learn that by the time of Charles’s death, the businessman was his only client. It must have been profitable being his lawyer, which begged the question how often his services were needed, and what for. There had been the usual court cases a prominent businessman would be involved in. Property disputes, environmental issues. Dante had been sued many times for many reasons, most of them spurious to Kane, just people looking to get money out of a rich man.

It was what didn’t get as far as the courts that interested Kane. He had suspicions that Charles was Dante’s fixer. They’d been friends since Harvard, when Charles was at the law school, and Dante at the business school. Dante had never graduated, but that hadn’t stopped him strengthening the property empire he’d inherited from his father. He’d gone back to Brooklyn, but Charles had become his lawyer when he graduated, even though he was based in Boston. He’d got admitted to the bar in New York as well as Boston so he could work for Dante. It must have been some friendship.

Something must have gone wrong in their relationship, though, because six months before his death, Charles stopped representing Dante. There was no announcement, nothing formal that Kane’s team could find. Dante had a different lawyer for all cases after March that year, and by September Charles Griffin was dead at the age of sixty, which was no age at all. Had he found something out? Made a mistake?

Kane had seen photos of him, and he was slim and fit, and his team had found no ongoing medical conditions. He’d been found in a hotel room in Boston, which had raised comment in the gossip papers at the time. The cause of death was cardiac arrest, which Kane knew could happen to the fittest of people because it was the way in which his own father had died suddenly and at a much younger age than Griffin. Still, it was curious, coming so soon after his sudden parting of ways with his long-term friend and client. Less than a year after Charles’s death, Dante was married to his widow. Kane had a good nose for sensing the darker truth that lay beneath the surface of peoples’ lives. It was twitching now, and he was certain there was more to this than it appeared.

None of this helped him with Abby, at least not in an obvious way, but it gave an insight into the man her stepfather was. If he was capable of doing something to his best friend, what might he do to that friend’s daughter, if she too had unwittingly stumbled on a long-held secret? He had a lot of work to do on Dante Wallace, but for now he’d have to settle with trying to rattle the man’s carefully constructed cage.

When Kane got to Abby’s hotel ten minutes before eight the next day, she was waiting for him in the lobby. He didn’t realise it was her standing at the reception desk at first. His eyes alighted on the back of a woman in a short red polka dot dress, long bronzed legs encased in vertiginous black heels. He lingered on her calves, which were muscled and well-defined. Then she turned and his breath caught in his throat. It was Abby. Abby in a red dress that wrapped across her body and highlighted her slim waist. Abby with her hair soft and hanging in loose curls that skimmed the tops of perfect breasts. He swallowed, tried to quell his racing pulse. He’d never seen her in a dress before, that’s what it was. A shock. Understandable.

“I want to talk to you,” she said by way of greeting, frowning at him, and for some reason, his pulse raced even faster.

“I’m not going to ruin your breakfast, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he replied as she took his arm and steered him into a small seating area in the lobby.

She motioned for him to sit, and he did. She sat opposite him, crossing one long leg over the other, her heels almost touching Kane’s calf. He hoped he would be able to speak in a normal voice when it was required of him. She leaned towards him, and her dress gaped. A fresh hell for him to deal with. He crossed his own legs.

“I thought about our conversation yesterday for half the night,” she said. “Do you want to meet Dante because you’re suspicious of him?”

As usual, she had the knack of opening him up as though he was a clock, whose mysterious inner workings were revealed to be nothing more than a system of gears upon her close scrutiny.

“No,” lied Kane, who had layers of intricacy that even the deftest watchmaker could only hope to create. “But anyone that is in your life is of interest to me, and that includes your mom and Dante.”

“Hmm,” she said, looking closely at him. Her brown eyes were made deeper by the red of the dress, and the gentle sweep of smoky eyeliner she’d drawn around them. He noticed her eyelashes for the first time; long, and black, they cast soft shadows on her cheeks in the oblique light from the window. He stared at them. How had he not noticed before?

“Is that a problem?” he managed to say.

She sniffed, then sat back, fixed him with a snooty critical look that Kane had hitherto thought only he was the master of. “No, but I’m keeping my eye on you.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said, giving her his best smirk. “I’m nice to look at.”

She laughed at that. A hearty chuckle that made her shoulders shake. “We’d better go through, then. They’re in the breakfast room already.”

She stood and waited for him to do the same. Kane was half tempted to hold his arm out for her to take, as though they were going to a dance, but thought better of it. He was glad he’d decided to wear his black Armani suit, rather than the more casual look he’d originally gone for when he’d woken. He complemented her and didn’t fail to notice the looks they got as they walked towards the dining room. Of course, people were probably looking at the killer ADA and her black-hearted defence lawyer.

He took a deep breath as they entered the room. She’d seen through his ruse to get to meet Dante; would she also see through his attempts to bait him, to draw the man out, and reveal something he didn’t want to? Probably, and that might mean the end of the tentative rapport they’d started to build up. Never mind. He was here to defend her, not marry her.

He saw Abby blow out her cheeks as they approached the table. So she was nervous. About what he would say? Or about what they would think of him, and he of them? Interesting. Kane put on his best smile as Elizabeth and Dante stood to greet him.

“You’ve met my mother, Elizabeth,” said Abby.

“I have. It’s nice to meet you again, Your Honour.” Kane held out his hand and Elizabeth took it.

“It’s Elizabeth. Let’s hope you fair better today than you did when we last met.” She shook his hand firmly, with barely a hint of a smile, so Kane wasn’t sure if she was making a joke. He nodded in acknowledgement.

“And this is my stepfather, Dante Wallace.”

“Marcus Kane.” Kane took Dante’s proffered hand. The man held him in a firm grip that bordered on painful, shook his hand once firmly, then let him go. He was taller than Kane, only an inch or so, but enough for him to be able to look down his patrician nose at him, as though he was inconsequential. His white hair was short and neat, his face lined with age but the bones still strong beneath. He pursed his thin lips and fixed Kane with a rheumy blue-eyed stare. He didn’t smile.

“Dante Wallace,” was all he said.

“I’m starving,” said Abby with a nervous laugh. “Shall we take a seat so we can order.”

Kane sat next to Abby and opposite her mother. “How’s Boston in the Fall?” he said as he picked up his menu.

“Beautiful, as always,” replied Elizabeth. “Much nicer than New York.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Kane. “There’s nothing like the smell of car fumes on a warm Fall day.”

He felt Abby’s foot against his leg as she nudged him. Elizabeth frowned in a way that was identical to how her daughter looked at him most of the time. It was unnerving. She was an older version of Abby, on the surface at least. Her eyes were the same brown, shrewd and observing, but they weren’t warm like Abby’s, because Elizabeth didn’t smile as much as her daughter. The refined cheekbones were the same, the straight nose, the full lips that curved into a bow had all been passed to her daughter. The features were the same, but the women owning them were not. Abby was soft and kind-hearted, and her mother was hard and no-nonsense, and the difference showed in their faces. When he looked at her closely, he didn’t see much of Abby at all.

“Ithaca is nice in the Fall I hear. Is that right, Kane?” said Dante, which Kane thought was a subtle way of letting him know he knew all about him.

“Do you know Ithaca well?” said Abby, looking at Kane.

“I was raised there. Born in Brooklyn, though. Still have a lot of contacts there.” He looked at Dante as he spoke.

“I didn’t know that,” said Abby.

Kane refrained from telling her it was because she didn’t prepare as much as she could for her opponents, not wanting to belittle her in front of her parents.

“Farm boy is probably not the image a top city lawyer like Kane wants to project,” said Dante.

Oh, so that’s how this was, thought Kane. Dante had shown his hand early, which was surprising. Did he know Kane’s staff were looking into him? Was he worried they’d found something and was trying to get ahead of it by intimidating or belittling Kane? If so, he was going to be sorely disappointed, because the chase was what Kane loved the most, and his blood was already up.

“Growing up with an understanding of the baser parts of nature has served me well in my law career so far.” Kane smiled at Dante, then opened his menu. “I think I’ll go for Eggs Benedict with extra bacon on the side. I’ve got a good appetite this morning.” He could feel Abby’s eyes on him, but he didn’t turn to look. The waiter arrived, and she ordered a fruit platter as did her mother. Dante had scrambled eggs and smoked salmon.

They sat in silence briefly once their choices had been given. Kane decided to keep quiet, let the family dynamics play out.

It was Abby who broke the silence. “How was the gala last night?”

“Predictable,” said Elizabeth, taking a sip of coffee.

“In what way?”

“Oh, you know. The usual.”

“It was awkward, Abigail, to be frank,” said Dante.

“There’s no need...” said Elizabeth, but Dante held up a hand to quiet her.

“I see,” said Abby; her shoulders slumped, and her eyes became downcast.

“It was like we were dragging an elephant around the room all night,” muttered Dante.

“No one said anything, dear.” Elizabeth reached across, patted the back of Abby’s hand where it rested on the white tablecloth.

“No one ever does, but it was a bad atmosphere. We didn’t stay long.” Dante stirred a sugar cube into his coffee, his eyes fixed on Abby.

“I’ll try to time any future arrest for out of gala season,” said Abby, tight-lipped.

Kane was going to suppress a smile, but then decided to let it out in the open for all to see. “Better to be talked about than not talked about, Abby. I speak from experience.”

She half-smiled in return. “I should have taken shares in the gossip magazines,” she said, her shoulders lifting.

“I did that long ago. Really,” he said in response to her questioning look.

“Is there anything you don’t think of?”

“I’m very thorough.” They shared a smile, and then the waiter arrived with their food.

Kane’s eggs burst when he cut into them, the yolks cascading into a buttery Hollandaise sauce. “Mmm,” he said, as he forked a large portion into his mouth.

Abby ate a grape and watched him hungrily. He wondered why she hadn’t ordered something more substantial if that’s what she wanted. Because her mother was here, perhaps.

“Thank you for sending us your reports so regularly, Mr Kane,” said Elizabeth. “They’re appreciated.”

Kane thought about saying she could call him Marcus, which was the polite thing to do, but she’d said nothing when her husband had been rude to her daughter, so she didn’t deserve the honour.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“Do you have a strategy in mind yet?”

“We’re working on it,” said Abby. “I’ve been looking through Case Law and Kane is trying to get hold of the evidence so we can do our own tests.”

“The police are dragging their feet, but don’t they always?” Kane cut a slice of toast, smothered it in the eggs and sauce and ate it. “God, this is so good!”

“It does looks good,” said Abby.

“Do you want to try some?” Kane cut another slice and held the fork towards her. He was aware of Dante’s and Elizabeth’s eyes on them both. His behaviour was both flirtatious and innocent, depending on your sensibilities. They clearly thought the former. Abby seemed unaware.

“Oh, erm. Okay. Thank you.” Abby took his fork and used her knife to slide the morsel off it and onto her plate. She handed the fork back to Kane then pronged the food with her own fork and ate it. She nodded at him after. “Yes, really good.”

Kane turned to look at the older couple. Dante looked unmoved, but his left eye twitched. Elizabeth was more nakedly frowning. They didn’t like the thought of their daughter and the dirty lawyer who defended the guilty. It was amusing, and potentially useful. Kane liked to stir up his clients and his witnesses, because when they were distracted by something else, they often slipped up elsewhere, where it really mattered.

“Your father was a lawyer, wasn’t he, Abby?” he said.

“Yes, a defence lawyer like you.”

“Like me. Yes.” He smiled as he turned to Dante. “He was your lawyer, am I right?”

“For a long time, yes.” Dante didn’t look at Kane; focusing on his food instead.

“You must have worked closely together over the years. You practically became his only client. I admire that kind of loyalty. I’m fickle myself. Prefer variety.”

“Charles was a very loyal man,” said Dante, still not looking at Kane. “To his clients and to his family.”

“I’m sure, and of course loyalty goes both ways. You were loyal to him as well, right up until... well... it was a very sad loss.”

Kane watched Dante closely as he said this. There was the briefest of pauses in the passage of his fork to his mouth, and then he finished the journey, and finally looked at Kane as he chewed. His stare was fixed and unblinking. Kane held the gaze.

“Thank you,” said Elizabeth. “That’s very kind.”

“I didn’t realise you knew my dad,” said Abby.

“I didn’t know him personally, but I was very much aware of his reputation while I was studying for the bar. One of the best defence lawyers on the East coast, if not the best.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Abby looked puzzled, as though she’d never expected Kane to think anyone was better than him. Kane wasn’t saying it simply to goad Dante. He believed it. Charles Griffin was legendary, and deservedly so. Kane didn’t think the apple had fallen far from the tree, despite Abby’s defects which mostly stemmed from her soft heart.

“He must have been a great inspiration to you,” said Kane softly.

“He was. He is. When I was young all I wanted to do was be a lawyer like my dad.” Her voice was warm and low as she spoke, her eyes growing distant as she searched her memories of her father.

“And you are,” said Kane.

Abby shrugged. “I doubt he’d have got himself into a mess like this.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Kane, and Abby surprised him by putting her hand on top of his, squeezing it briefly. Kane grew warm, at her touch, and with the knowledge that he’d comforted her in some small way. She was alone in this; he realised that now. Her parents were angry and disappointed, even if they believed in her innocence, and he wasn’t entirely sure that was the case. Her co-workers were angry and vengeful. The man she’d liked had abused her and was now dead. Someone was trying to frame her and send her to prison, and that someone might be closer than she thought. Kane was all she had.

The waiter arrived to clear away their plates and Kane ordered more coffee. He wasn’t ready to end this breakfast just yet; had one more mine to lay.

“Do you have a lot of business in New York?” he said to Dante.

“Some,” he replied.

“You cut your teeth here, before moving to Boston.”

“I did start off here, yes.”

“In Brooklyn, like me, before I became a farm boy.”

Dante granted Kane a disdainful half smile. “I think where one chooses to make a home says more about a person than where one is brought up.”

Kane ignored the sleights against his home borough and his upbringing, couldn’t exactly disagree with Dante if he was honest. “My latest client was involved in property, probably back when you were here. Luca Romano. Do you know him?”

“I know of him, of course. Everybody does,” said Dante, his left eye twitching again almost imperceptibly. That was his tell, Kane was certain.

“That case is one of the reasons we hired you,” said Elizabeth. “The way you got him off that murder charge was impressive. The man was clearly guilty.”

“Not in the eyes of the law,” said Kane.

“He’s only not guilty on a technicality, and a dubious one at that,” said Abby, her face warm at the mention of Kane’s win over her. “Everyone in the world knows he did it.”

“It doesn’t matter what everyone in the world knows or thinks they know,” said Kane. “I’ve told you that. He’s free. That’s what matters to him.”

She sighed. “I know that the evidence against me is overwhelming at the moment, or appears to be, but I don’t want to be free on a technicality. How can I live the rest of my life knowing everyone thinks I killed a man?”

“If you get convicted and go to prison everyone’s going to think that anyway!”

“Mr Kane’s right, darling. We had this talk.”

“I know, mom, but I don’t feel ready to give into that yet.”

“It’s early days, Abigail,” said Dante. “I’m sure Kane is looking into who else might have murdered the boy.”

“I am,” replied Kane. “I have a number of suspects already.” He stared at Dante, and the old man stared back.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Well, I’m not giving in. I’m going to find out who is framing me and why, and then I’m going to take them down.”

“I want that too, if possible,” said Kane. “We’re in this together. A technicality is a last resort.” He almost felt bad when she gave him a grateful smile, because he’d said that to wind Dante up, but he meant it as well. She was an asset, with her clever mind and her insights, and it wasn’t as though she was going to fall for Kane’s fake flirtations and sentiments. She disliked him deep down; he knew that. He was any port in a storm, and he was okay with that. He was.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby cooks for Kane and they discuss her case and get to know each other better.

Abby sat in the lobby of her hotel and looked at the mail she’d picked up at reception. There were two letters; one from the DA’s office, the other from the American Bar Association. She knew what they would say, but she was delaying opening them, as though that would change her fate. It wouldn’t. She took a sip of her coffee, then opened the one from the DA first. Most of it was repeating what Pike had told her when she’d gone to see him. She was suspended while the criminal investigation was ongoing. An independent investigation by the District Attorney’s Office would be undertaken at a time to be decided and she would be informed in due course.

There was another paragraph, though, one that Pike hadn’t mentioned. They were setting up an investigation into her relationship with Rafael, and she was expected to cooperate fully. She didn’t feel like she’d done anything wrong. It had been more of a friendship than anything else. In the normal course of events it might warrant a verbal warning, but she had no idea if that would be the case now. Someone was out to get her, and that might be someone in the DA’s office. Even if she was exonerated of the murder charge, her career might still be ruined.

She ripped open the letter from the American Bar Association, figuring she might as well get it over with. They couldn’t suspend her licence until the outcome of the investigation was known, but she wasn’t allowed to practice law without informing her clients that she was under investigation. She wasn’t going to get another job as a prosecutor in the state of New York anyway, but she had her pro bono clients and this would affect them. Damn it! They weren’t going to complete any investigation or probably even start one until her court case was over, and that could be months, a year or more. It was incredibly frustrating. Abby had always been a woman in control of her destiny; it was disconcerting to feel so helpless. She hated the feeling.

Abby folded the letters back into their envelopes and tucked them into her purse. She was sick of sitting in this hotel thinking only of herself; she had to do something. It was a half hour walk to the Legal Aid Society on Water Street. She’d go there this morning, tell them the situation, see if they still wanted her help, even if it was as a filing clerk or cleaner. Anything was better than sitting here feeling sorry for herself. It was a Saturday, but she was pretty sure the woman she wanted to see would be in her office.

The walk would normally take her past the courthouse and her old office, so she headed down Church Street instead, stopping at the World Trade Center memorial. She’d been in Harvard back when the tragedy happened, but remembered the day vividly, as everyone did. She put her hands on the cold stainless steel, traced the letters in the names of some of the people who’d died. There were worse things to happen in life than what was happening to her. Unimaginable things. She wiped away a tear, like everyone around her was doing, shared a sad smile with the woman standing next to her. The woman held out her arms, and Abby went to them without thinking. They hugged silently, and then went their separate ways. It was a beautiful and surreal moment. Abby walked the rest of the way to the Society with a heart that was both heavy and hopeful.

She pushed open the door into the outer office. Emma was on reception, and she smiled warmly at Abby.

“Nice to see you, Abby,” she said.

“Thank you,” replied Abby, relieved to have received a warm welcome. “Is Niylah in?”

Emma clicked on her mouse, looked at her computer screen. “You’re in luck. She has a few minutes before her next appointment. Go through.”

She buzzed Abby through to the main room, and she made her way past mostly empty desks towards Niylah’s office. She knocked on the door and entered when directed to do. Niylah was sitting at her desk, frantically bashing her keyboard, her bracelets jangling with every stroke. Her long dirty blonde hair was half up half down and she was wearing her usual brown sweater. She was familiar and unchanged in Abby’s unfamiliar new world; it felt good to see her. She hoped the conversation would go well, because she needed a place to hole up and call home.

Niylah glanced up distractedly, recognition dawning on her face. She stopped typing, stood. “Abby,” she said, and she came around the desk and drew Abby into her second hug of the day.

“Hi, Niylah.”

“How are you?” she said, her voice muffled because her face was still buried in Abby’s hair.

“I’m doing okay.” Abby drew back.

“I couldn’t believe the news. I meant to get in touch sooner, but I was swamped, you know. Time got away.”

“I know,” said Abby, and she knew it wasn’t an excuse, because the Legal Aid Society was underfunded and understaffed and there was always more work than they could cope with. “I wanted to come and see you in person.”

“Sit down, sit down.” Niylah indicated a chair to Abby, and then returned to her own chair behind her desk.

Abby perched on the edge of the chair, her hands clasped in front of her. “First of all, I wanted to tell you that I’m innocent. I don’t expect you to believe me, but it’s the truth.”

“Of course I believe it. God, I’d suspect myself of murder before I’d suspect you.”

“Thank you.” Relief flooded Abby’s veins. Someone else in her corner. She’d have to start counting on her other hand soon. “I also wanted to tell you that I’m under investigation by the ABA. I can still practice, but I have to inform my clients of that fact beforehand.”

“I figured that would be the case. You’re suspended from work I assume?”

“Yes, until the court case is resolved.”

“On full pay I hope?”

“Yes, not that I want their money.”

“You take it, love. First of all, you’re owed it, because you haven’t done anything wrong and secondly, it would make you look overprivileged in the eyes of any jury if it were to come out you didn’t take the money.”

“I am overprivileged,” said Abby ruefully.

“Aren’t we all?” said Niylah. “How many lawyers do you know from a working background?”

“There weren’t any at Harvard.”

“No, and there were only a small handful at New York.” Niylah sat back in her chair, smiled at Abby. “Are you going to do some work for me while you’re suspended?”

“Do you want me?”

“If you need to ask that you don’t know me.”

Abby sighed with relief. “It’s not that I don’t know that, but everything has been so upside down lately. I can’t be sure of anything.”

“Well you can be sure of me, and us. Your clients still need you, Abby, and I have more if you can take them.”

“I can. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry I have to rush you out, but I have another meeting.” Niylah stood, gathered up her jacket and bag and headed towards Abby. “Walk out with me.”

They headed back to reception together. “I hear you have that asshole Kane representing you,” said Niylah.

“Yes,” said Abby with a small laugh. She was starting to feel bad every time anyone called Kane an asshole. She’d thought that herself a few weeks ago, but now she’d got to know him better, well, he was still an asshole, but a surprisingly comforting and caring one.

“Anytime you’ve had enough of him, you come to me, okay?”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Okay, I have to run. Emma will give you your caseload.” Niylah kissed Abby’s cheek, then disappeared out of the door.

Abby turned to Emma. “What do you have for me?” she said.

When she left the building, she walked down to the waterfront instead of going straight back to the hotel. She sat on a bench with a view of the Brooklyn Bridge and looked through the casefiles Emma had given her. There were some interesting cases for her to get her teeth into, and she couldn’t wait to start. She closed the file and looked up at the bridge. Kane had been born across the river in Brooklyn; she’d been surprised to learn that last week at their breakfast. The way he dressed and spoke and held himself she’d assumed he was Manhattan born and bred, from the Upper East side perhaps. Instead he’d been born here and raised on a farm. She couldn’t picture that at all.

She put her case files into her briefcase, then reluctantly got up. She was feeling itchy, restless. Normally when she was feeling like this she would get into her kitchen and lose herself in cooking or baking, but she couldn’t do that in her hotel room. Unless...

\---

Kane was snoozing on his sofa, covered in paperwork as usual, when his buzzer woke him. He was disorientated for a moment, and flung out his arm, knocking a cup of coffee over on the table. Damn! He ran into the kitchen, grabbed a cloth and wiped it up. Luckily it had only been the dregs and he got it before it stained. The intercom was still buzzing intermittently, and it was starting to drill into his brain. He stormed over to it, picked up the handset.

“What?” he growled.

“Erm, it’s Abby,” said a familiar voice.

Kane looked at the tiny screen then, saw her big eyes looming large at him as she looked into the camera. What was she doing here on a Saturday?

“Are you okay?” he said.

“I’m fine. Feeling restless actually. Nervous energy.”

“Okay,” said Kane slowly, still staring at her image on the screen.

“You said I could use your kitchen when I felt like this,” she said.

“I did, yes.” Realisation slowly sank into Kane’s sleepy brain. “When do you want to use it?”

“Now.” He saw her lift something that looked like a couple of paper bags into the air, and she shook them at the camera.

“Oh,” was all he could say in reply.

“Are you going to let me in?”

“Erm, yes. Yes, of course. Come up. It’s the fourth floor.” He pressed the buzzer to let her in, then frantically looked around his apartment for anything out of place or incriminating, not that he’d been doing anything to feel guilty about, it was just an automatic response. He had underwear drying on a rail in his bathroom because he hadn’t been bothered to go to launder such a small amount of clothing. He ran to the bathroom, pulled them off the rail and threw them into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. By the time he got back to his living room she was knocking on the door.

He went through into the small lobby, smoothed down his grey sweater, ran a hand through his ungelled hair to tame it, then opened the door.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Abby replied. “Where’s your kitchen?”

“Erm, through here.” Kane opened the door into the main area of his apartment. The floor was open plan, so his entire living space was visible at once.

“Oh, wow,” said Abby, and she stopped just inside the doorway as she surveyed the room. “It’s stunning.”

“Thank you,” said Kane, gratified by her response. He examined her as she looked around the room. She had her hair tied in a simple ponytail and didn’t appear to be wearing any make up. She had dark circles under her eyes, but she seemed brighter than she had for the last couple of weeks. Her eyes had more sparkle in them.

“I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it’s really warm for such a large space.”

“It’s the wooden beams, and the flooring,” said Kane. They bring the warmth.

“Yes, and the brick. All the different colours in it.”

“That’s what attracted me to it; it’s warmth. Can I take your coat?”

Abby put her bags on the floor so she could shrug out of her grey woollen coat. She handed it to Kane, and he hung it on the hook by the door next to his black coat. She was dressed simply as well in grey jeans and a blue cotton top that clung to her frame. It had three buttons and two of them were undone, giving him the same glimpse of cleavage he’d had when they were facing each other in court. Did she do it on purpose to unsettle him, or was it an unconscious decision? He’d asked himself that a couple of months ago and decided the answer was she did it on purpose, but now he wasn’t so sure. There was a naivety about Abby, he’d found, despite her clever brain and quick wits. He wasn’t sure she had any idea how lovely she was.

Kane picked up Abby’s bags and carried them to the kitchen, resting them on the white marble countertop.

“This is a lot like my kitchen, only three times the size,” she said, following him. She walked around the kitchen, running her hand over the smooth surfaces. “Oh, you have a double oven AND a warming oven.” She pulled down the oven door, peered inside.

Kane felt like his life was under her scrutiny, his taste, his cleanliness, tidiness, all his life choices. It was unnerving, but also pleasing to see her honest reaction to his pride and joy; it gave him a strange validation, which he wouldn’t have thought he’d ever want or need from her or anybody.

“I have kitchen envy!” she said, grinning at him.

He grinned back. “Wait ‘til you see the rest of the apartment.”

She raised her eyebrows at him then, and he decided to shut up before he ruined everything with his natural tendency to gloat and show off.

“I’m sure it’s all lovely,” she said. She took a deep breath. “Okay! I’d better get unpacked and get started.”

“I’ll help you,” Kane said, starting to take items out of the bags.

“No, it’s fine. This is all part of my process.”

“Can I get you a drink, then? What would you like?”

“I would really love a coffee, thank you; however it comes is fine.”

Kane busied himself at his coffee machine making two simple coffees with milk while Abby unpacked her bags. When he turned around there was an array of jars and brown paper parcels set out on his counter. “What are you making?” he said as he handed her a coffee.

“What I said I would.”

“The filet mignon. Really?”

“And twice-cooked fries, and if you’re lucky, I might throw in dessert.”

“And I get to eat this?” he said, not wanting to assume even though she’d said she owed him dinner.

“Well, I’m not going to pack it all up and take it back to my hotel and eat alone, so yeah. If you want it, you can have it.”

“I do. Thanks.”

“You’d better let me get on with it then.” She made a shooing gesture to make him leave the kitchen.

Kane didn’t know what was expected of him. This was an unprecedented situation. He leaned on the other side of the counter. “How was your day?” he said, for want of something to say.

Abby looked up from rummaging in one of his cupboards and frowned. “You’re not allowed to speak.”

“What? It’s my house!”

“So? Who would you have been speaking to if I weren’t here?” She gestured to the empty space that made up the rest of Kane’s home as if she was stating the obvious.

“I. Well...”

“Exactly.”

“So, you just want me to go away and leave you alone?”

“Yes. Go and do whatever you were doing before I arrived. I need quiet for my brain to do its thing.”

“Okay,” said Kane, and he took his coffee over to the living area and set it on the table. He sat on the other side of his L-shaped sofa to the one he’d been working at earlier so he could see her as she moved around in the kitchen.

He put on his glasses, picked up a file and continued making notes on a report Sinclair had sent him. Abby was humming softly to herself as she chopped at something, and he lifted his head periodically so he could watch her as she concentrated on her tasks. It was strange to have someone else in the apartment, to hear noises, catch movement out of the corner of his eye. She talked to herself softly as she prepped, and every so often there was a louder swear word that made him look up. She didn’t look over at him once, lost in her own world. He hoped this was helping her, because she’d been so down since her mother had returned to Boston.

Kane drained his coffee, looked at his watch. There was a game on, but he didn’t want to disturb Abby. He flicked on the TV and put the sound on mute, then settled back and tried to relax. The smell of butter and caramel drifted across the room, making his stomach rumble. He didn’t know what she was making for dessert, but he couldn’t wait for any of it.

\---

Abby started on her pear tarte tatin first, making the puff pastry which was fiddly and time-consuming, exactly how she liked her cooking tasks to be. She opened Kane’s fridge so she could chill the pastry and had a good look at what he had stored. There was nothing very exciting. Eggs, milk, a whole shelf of orange juice cartons. Did he mainline the stuff? Pastrami, a cut of beef, three different types of cheese, salami, mayonnaise, mustard, champagne, white wine, beers, and a stack of takeout boxes. She glanced around to see if he was looking; he wasn’t, so she pulled out one of the boxes, looked to see what was inside. Leftover Chinese, sweet and sour chicken by the smell of it, and an egg roll.

Judging by the lack of ingredients in his fridge and the spotlessness of his kitchen, she suspected he didn’t cook often. Eggs for his breakfast. An occasional homemade sandwich for lunch. He probably ate out a lot, or got food in. It was the curse of the lawyer’s life with its long days and unpredictable hours. She returned the box to the fridge and closed the door.

She sliced her pears and placed them in the hot buttered pan to caramelise. She looked over at Kane again while she waited. He had put the TV on and was stretched out on his sofa watching a game. His apartment had been a complete surprise to her when she’d walked in. It was a typical loft space in many ways, but she hadn’t expected Kane’s place to be so comfortable and welcoming. She’d felt at home there instantly. It wasn’t just the look of it, but the things he surrounded himself with.

For some reason she hadn’t expected him to have cushions and photographs, and interesting objects. That seemed silly now; he was a human being after all. He’d just always seemed so cold, so clinical. She’d imagined his home would be the same. Parts of it were - the stainless-steel industrial pipes that spanned the ceiling, the huge load-bearing props that supported the roof - but the rest was warm and honey-coloured. He had prints of New York landmarks on the wall next to a black and white drawing of a forest that was surreally beautiful. Everything was stylish but natural, like a side table next to the sofa that looked like it was made from a tree trunk. A highly polished, varnished tree trunk that probably cost more than an entire woodland, but nevertheless it was understated compared to what she’d thought Kane’s taste would be.

There was no denying his apartment was impressive. He probably enjoyed showing it off to his female conquests, of which there were many she was sure. He had a terrible reputation as a womaniser, although she hadn’t seen any signs of it in the brief time that she’d known him. She’d half expected him to have someone with him today, and was glad to find him alone, because she desperately needed this time in the kitchen.

The pears were ready, and she removed them from the heat to cool. She prepared the rest of her ingredients then took her pastry out of the fridge. She cut it into pear shapes then pressed them over the pears in the pan. She’d made four, just in case any didn’t work. She put the tarte in the oven and then cleaned up so she could prepare her pear slice garnish.

The coffee she’d drunk earlier was having an effect and she needed a pee. She didn’t want to go wandering off on her own looking for the bathroom because she’d been presumptuous enough with Kane today, and he’d been remarkably cooperative about it all.

“Where’s your bathroom?” she shouted to him. He jumped at the sound of her voice; had probably forgotten she was here.

“Erm, just down the hall first on the left,” he said, pointing to the back of the room.

“Thanks.” Abby followed his directions, opened a door into a room that was much more like she’d expected Kane’s taste to be. It was mostly white, clinically so, with stainless-steel his and hers sinks. The only colour was the wood of the cabinets. The shower was set into the wall and had a huge powerful head. He probably spent ages in here, perfecting his looks. There wasn’t a single product on show, so she opened all his cupboards without a shred of guilt and looked through them.

He had shampoos and conditioners for every occasion, loads of hair gels and styling products. Brushes, combs, even an eyebrow brush. Creams for dry skin, exfoliating things. He had more personal care products than she did. It was no surprise, because he was always groomed to perfection. There were the usual pills and ointments most people had, nothing surprising or illegal. There was a packet of condoms at the back of one cupboard and she pulled it out to examine it. There were four missing, and the expiry date was only a year away. What did that mean? He was either careless or maybe he had some long-term girlfriend he hadn’t mentioned and didn’t need this kind of protection. Surely if he did there’d be evidence of her here, unless she had her own bathroom. That was possible. It was all very interesting.

She was certain he dated, had an eye for the female form. She’d noticed him checking her out a couple of years before when they’d had a case together. He liked legs and boobs like most men, and she’d played on that over the years, undoing her buttons when she was in court with him in the vain hope it would distract him. It did, but never enough for him to make a mistake.

She’d undone the buttons on her top today. Not because she wanted to tempt him, because that was the last thing she wanted, but she knew he’d look, and there was a part of her that needed to feel appreciated, to have someone look at her, however briefly, and see a woman, a human being, rather than a murderer or a victim. He’d obliged by drinking in the sight of her when he thought she wasn’t looking, but then he’d left her alone as she had known he would. She wasn’t particularly proud of using him like that, but he wasn’t likely to be bothered, and she trusted him, because he’d been nothing but sensitive with her in that regard, even asking her permission to touch her when she’d needed a boost over the wall.

She closed his cupboards, used the toilet and then washed her hands. She looked at herself in the mirror, saw her heavy eyes and pale skin. She should forget everything, go somewhere sunny, get some colour into her skin. Course, she couldn’t leave the state, and sun was in short supply in New York once winter came. She’d have to remain pale and uninteresting.

She was about to leave, when she spotted something on the floor behind the door. She bent down, poked at the object. It was a pair of his underpants, black boxers. Oh, this was too good an opportunity to miss! She picked them up by the waistband and held them between finger and thumb. She walked out of the bathroom and down the hallway, trying to contain her glee and the smile that was desperate to play on her lips.

“I didn’t think you were the type of person to leave his dirty underwear on the bathroom floor,” she said when she entered the living room. She dangled the pants in the air and was hugely gratified to see the shock creep into his face when he realised what she had. He blushed, and that was the icing on the cake. Her smile erupted onto her face.

He leapt off the sofa, almost ran towards her. “They’re clean!” he said, trying to pull them from her grasp, but she moved them out of his reach, put them in her other hand, teasing him. She could tell he wanted to grab her and force her to give them up, but he held back, being sensitive again. That made her warm to him, and she gave them up. He took them, then he rubbed them playfully in her face while laughing, shocking the hell out of her.

“You bastard!” she shouted, although her voice was muffled because his pants were covering her mouth. He rubbed them again, pinching her nose through the cloth with his fingers, and then just as suddenly as she was smothered, she could breathe again, and see. She gasped and looked up. He was already halfway across the room, smirking at her.

“That’ll teach you,” he said.

“You fuck!” she said with a laugh.

“You’re the one trying to embarrass me.” He folded the pants, put them on the tree trunk side table.

“You blushed. I’ll always have that,” she said, and then she returned to the kitchen. Kane went back to the sofa.

The timer went on Abby’s tarte, and she pulled it out of the oven. She placed it on the counter and looked across to Kane. He was lying on the sofa again watching the game, a big smile on his face. Abby tested the firmness of her tarte. Her heart was thudding from the exhilaration of the moment. She felt alive for the first time in ages.

\---

Kane lay on the sofa, staring unseeing at the TV. His heart was racing. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, or why he’d done what he’d done. It was her smug face when she’d dangled his pants in front of him. He’d been embarrassed momentarily, and then the sight of her joy had lit something in him, made him playful. She’d taken it with good grace, and he knew without looking at her that she was smiling now like he was. It made him feel good to make her happy. It was because of what she was going through; at least that’s what he told himself, but it was more than that. Wouldn’t it be funny if the woman who had been his biggest opponent, who’d looked at him whenever she saw him with contempt and loathing, who he’d maligned so disgracefully as he now saw it in the New York Law Journal, turned out to be his friend? What were the odds of that happening? It was possible; he could feel it. They were on the brink of something, an understanding, a mutual enjoyment of each other’s company.

Fascinating.

He got up when the game went to commercial, went to the kitchen. “I’m just getting a beer,” he said in response to her quizzical look. “I won’t disturb the genius at work.”

“You’re hilarious,” she said, smiling.

“So you’ve said before.” Kane went to his fridge, grabbed a beer, offered it to Abby. She hesitated, then took it.

“Thanks.”

“Help yourself to whatever you want,” he said, twisting off the cap of his beer and taking a slug.

“I’m going to start the main now,” she said. “It will be ready in an hour or so. Does that suit you?”

“It does,” he replied. “I’ll set the table.” He opened a drawer, took out the nice cutlery, opened another one, got napkins. He never bothered with the good stuff when it was just him, but Abby had gone to so much trouble; it seemed appropriate.

He set places for them opposite each other at one end of his long dining table, then selected a French wine from his rack, uncorked it so it could breathe. He picked out his good wine glasses, the cut crystal ones he’d got on a trip to Ireland years ago. Satisfied that the table looked good, he settled in to watch the rest of the game, the smell of seared meat filling his nostrils. If what she’d cooked was even half as good as it smelled, he was going to be in heaven.

By the time the game ended, the scents wafting from the kitchen were unbelievable. Nothing that smelled this good had ever been cooked in Kane’s apartment. He switched off the TV, stretched, and looked at his watch; the hour was nearly up. He glanced over at Abby. She was standing at the stove, stirring two pots at the same time. She looked calm from what he could see. He thought about going over and asking if she needed help, but figured she’d tell him if she wanted him.

He got up and went over to the music centre and looked through his albums. Putting on music kind of made it feel like a date, but he wasn’t a fan of eating in silence, listening to each other chew, especially when he didn’t know the other person well. He didn’t know what kind of music Abby liked, but his collection was mostly jazz, so that would have to do for her. He picked Charlie Parker, because who didn’t like him? 

His turntable was modern but in a vintage style, with a sleek oak finish. It had cost him a small fortune, but it was worth it for the sound quality. He slid the vinyl disc from its sleeve, placed it on the turntable and lifted the needle, settling it gently onto the record. It was ceremonial, this act, like a ritual that would take him into another world, back to when he was a child listening to music in his bedroom, and before that, to the world of smoky jazz clubs, prohibition and sultry sax music. He sighed happily as the record turned and the needle scratched before catching in the groove and the melodious tones of Charlie Bird Parker filled the room.

At a loss what to do next, and not wanting to sit and wait for his meal to be put before him like some nineteen fifties husband, Kane decided he should ask anyway if Abby needed help. He walked over to the kitchen, which was a chaos of pans and plates and steaming food. She was taking the steak out of the oven, and just from looking at it, Kane knew it was going to be good. It was seared to perfection, and he watched as she sliced it and the juicy pink centre was revealed. God, he was going to die.

He waited until she noticed him before speaking, not wanting to scare her and make her drop the precious food. “Can I help at all?” he said.

“No, I’m good. Just go and wait; it won’t be long.” Her cheeks were pink from the heat of the stove, and there were tiny drops of sweat on her brow. She was concentrating hard, her mouth determined, her eyes focused and bright. She must have sensed him staring at her because she looked up and frowned.

“I’m going,” Kane said, his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender.

Satisfied that he’d shown willing, he took his seat at the dining table. He poured a small amount of the wine into his glass, tasted it. Perfect. He filled Abby’s glass then his and then sat and waited. It had been a long time, years probably, since anyone had cooked for him other than his mother. Abby had gone to a lot of trouble, and she would require an opinion. He hoped the food was as good as it promised to be, because he wasn’t a man accustomed to lying, not outside the court room at least, and not even then, really. He circumvented the truth perhaps, but everything he ever said or did was subject to scrutiny by anyone who cared to look.

He was debating how to approach the possibility of the food being bad, when Abby appeared holding a plate with a napkin. She set the food in front of him.

“The plate’s hot,” she said, and took her own seat opposite Kane.

“Thank you,” said Kane, and he looked at her sitting across from him and the moment seemed surreal, like they’d slipped into an alternate reality where they were domestic partners. She must have felt something similar, because he saw her swallow hard. He looked down at the food, at the seared meat and the crispy brown fries, and the shiny red Bordelaise sauce that coated the steak. She’d been generous with the sauce, which pleased him. “It looks amazing,” he said.

“Hopefully it tastes amazing,” Abby said.

Kane cut a slice of the meat and popped it in his mouth. It melted it was so tender. “Oh, God,” he said with his mouth full.

“Yeah?” said Abby.

“Yeah.” Kane tried the fries, which at Landmarc were usually too undercooked for his taste, despite them going twice into the fryer. Abby’s fries were crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. “These are perfect,” he said.

“Have I won the Landmarc challenge then?”

“I’d say. It’s outstanding!” He beamed at her, because he was full of pleasure and happiness and he couldn’t contain it.

“Thanks,” she said, and she tucked into her own meal with a smile.

“Thank you!” said Kane.

“Is this your favourite kind of music?” said Abby when she paused to take a sip of her wine. “Oh, this is good wine,” she said.

“It’s French. Yes, I’ve always loved Jazz. My father used to play it all the time when I was a kid, so I guess it seeped into my veins. Do you like it?”

“It’s not a kind of music I’ve come across often, but I like it, yes.”

“I love old New York,” said Kane. “How it was in the thirties and forties. The music, the style, the movies.”

Abby paused with a forkful of fries midway to her mouth. “You know, actually, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Why not?”

“You have that kind of look going on, with your hair usually gelled and the cut of your suits. I could see you as like a Frank Sinatra or a Humphrey Bogart.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Kane was pleased with her characterisation of him. Of course she might be thinking that with his reputation he was more of a gangster, but then she’d have said Al Capone or someone like that rather than Sinatra or Bogart.

“You’ll have to come to the jazz club with me some time,” he said. “You can be my Lauren Bacall. You have the face for it.” He didn’t really think about what he was saying until he saw her amused smile. “Erm, not that I’m asking you out or anything. Just, you know, it would be something... You might enjoy it.” He cleared his throat, took a sip of his wine to try and hide the blush that he could feel warming his cheeks. This was the second time today she’d done this to him. What was happening?

“I’m sure I would enjoy it,” she said, and all Kane could do was nod.

They sat in silence for a short while after that and Kane concentrated on the food and cursed himself for his loose tongue. You can be my Lauren Bacall. Jesus Christ. Where had that come from? She had him upside down and backwards and all she’d done was cook him a meal. His mouth was running away with him, betraying thoughts and feelings he hadn’t realised he had. He wondered just how desperate for company he’d been the last months or years or... oh, God, was he a sad, pathetic, lonely man? Did it show?

“I got letters from the DA’s office and the ABA today,” said Abby.

“About your suspension?” said Kane, relieved to have the conversation back on safe ground.

“Yes. The ABA are investigating me but I can still practice as long as I tell my clients about it.”

“You’re not going to work anyway, so that won’t matter.”

“I am going to work. I went to the Legal Aid Clinic before I came here, and they still want me.”

“Is that wise? How are you going to defend your clients?”

“Like I always do!” She had that familiar edge to her voice, the one that told him she was annoyed.

“Yes, but aren’t you worried you’ll be a liability? What’s the judge going to think?”

She glared at him. “The judge will think the client is being represented by one of the best lawyers in New York!”

“One who’s being investigated for murder,” he said softly, trying to calm her down.

“Don’t take this from me, Kane,” she said, her voice cracking.

“I’m not. I’m really not. I just think you need to consider what’s best for your clients.”

“I always do.”

“Yes. That’s why I know you’ll do the same now.”

“I can’t give it up Kane. I’ve got nothing without this. I don’t even know who I am if I’m not a lawyer.” She had tears in her eyes when she looked at him, and he felt bad for bringing her mood down when she’d been so contented.

“We can find another way.” He reached across the table towards her, and for a second he thought she would leave him stranded like that, but then she took his hand. He stroked her soft skin with his thumb.

“I could be assistant chair!” she said, suddenly bright again. “Do all the legwork and then be there to guide without having to get up myself.” She pulled her hand away from Kane’s, sat back with a smile.

“That’s a good plan,” he said.

She nodded. “Okay, are you ready for dessert?”

Kane watched her as she headed towards the kitchen with their plates. He took a large gulp of his wine. Something was happening here, to him. Abby was doing something to him. He was enthralled, and he had to get a grip on himself, because he couldn’t represent her properly if he had feelings for her.

\---

Abby stood in the kitchen, stirring her caramel sauce, grateful for the time alone. That had been one of the most interesting meals she’d ever had. Kane had been indulgent with her all afternoon, letting her take over his apartment with barely a comment, doing whatever she said. It was most unlike him to be so compliant. Of course, he was getting a gourmet meal out of it, and she knew he liked his food, so there was that. He’d been suitably appreciative, and it had pleased her that he’d enjoyed the meal and been unafraid of showing his pleasure.

He’d been an interesting and entertaining dinner companion, opening up to her about his tastes and what he liked to do. The more she got to know him, the less of an egotistical asshole he became, and the more she was starting to like him. Then he’d said what he had about going to a club and her being his Lauren Bacall, and it wasn’t so much what he’d said, because she’d had things like that said about her looks before, it was his reaction afterwards. He’d acted as though he’d betrayed some deeply hidden feelings and was mortified. He’d lost his cool, and it had been amusing to see him flapping around to try and gain control of himself again, but she also wondered how much of a tell it really was.

Did he have feelings for her? It was possible she supposed, but she couldn’t see it. She was probably reading too much into his reaction, and what had he betrayed, if anything, deep down? That he liked her? That he enjoyed her company? She’d enjoyed his tonight as well, was warming to him. There was nothing wrong with that.

She finished the sauce and assembled the rest of her dish. Kane was putting on another album when she returned to the table.

“Who do we have this time?” she said, setting his plate down.

“I thought I’d shake things up a bit with some John Coltrane,” he said. “Oh, wow. What’s this?” he said, looking at his dessert.

“It’s pear tarte tatin with coffee ice cream, pear discs, a caramel sauce and a praline shard.”

She watched his thin lips curve into a happy smile as he ate a slice of the tarte.

“So good,” he said. “Ridiculous.”

Abby hadn’t made this meal for him, really. She’d wanted to use the kitchen, get lost in her own thoughts, and she’d also wanted to meet his challenge, but his pleasure made her feel good, she had to admit.

“I don’t make desserts often, because it’s too much for one person.”

“I’m happy to help you out with that any time you feel like baking,” he said.

“There’s a spare tarte in your fridge you can have for tomorrow if you like.”

He looked at her, his pupils wide and black. “You’re making me a happy man.”

“I...” Abby’s phone buzzed with a text and she pulled it out of her pocket, not sure who could be texting her because there were only a handful of people who had her new number. “Oh, it’s Raven,” she said to Kane.

“What does she want?” said Kane.

Abby opened the text, read it. She sighed.

“What?” repeated Kane.

“Raven says she found out the police have the DNA results back from Rafael’s house. The hair is definitely mine, and my DNA was on the rim of the glass that had my fingerprint.”

“Hmm.” Kane grimaced. “Does she say anything about the sofa and the bedsheets?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s good at least.”

“It shows they can’t plant my bodily fluids like they have my fingerprints,” said Abby.

“They could do, easily.”

“How? I haven’t had sex in, well, never mind how long, but a while.”

“You don’t have to have another person in bed with you for your DNA to get on your sheets.” He raised his eyebrows at her, and Abby felt herself redden at his inference.

“All they’d have to do is get in your house and take your sheet and put it on his bed,” Kane continued.

“His DNA should be mixed with mine, and it wouldn’t be.”

“Not if he used a condom.”

“Then I would know my sheet was missing!”

“Not if they replaced it with an identical one.”

He had a plausible answer for everything, and Abby was shocked. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my career, crazy things, many of them from you, but this is something else!”

“They haven’t gone that far in your case, luckily.”

“But how is any evidence reliable if it can be manipulated so easily?”

“Exactly,” said Kane. “That’s the basis of my entire career.”

“You don’t help, though, by making good evidence seem bad.”

“Like the gun in the Romano case you mean?”

“Yes. It was clear the gun was never really out of sight.”

“Were you there? Did you see it? Did you track it at all times with your own eyes?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then how do you know? You are relying on the officer’s word, and I’m sure you believed Officer Saunders was telling the truth, and he probably was, but there was reasonable doubt, and that’s all it takes, you know that.”

“Yes, but there are always flaws, and if every lawyer was like you no one would ever be convicted.”

“People should only be convicted if they’re found guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. Look at your case. If you were the prosecution and not the alleged criminal, what would you think of the evidence, of the case?”

“I’d think there was a good chance I was guilty.”

“Yes, and you’d take that and run with it, look for further evidence to support your belief. You might well ignore what doesn’t fit, concentrate only on what does.”

“I wouldn’t!” said Abby, indignant that he’d think that of her.

Kane ignored her protestation. “If you’re guilty in your own eyes, what are you going to do? Accept it because the evidence is the evidence?”

“No. I’m going to find out who is framing me.”

“And I’m going to help you with that, but I’m also looking for the flaws. Take the fingerprints they found. As soon as we get hold of the evidence I’m going to test them myself. I’m going to look at the position of them. Are the prints on the glass in a position that would be plausible for someone holding that glass? Are the prints on the lamp where you would have touched it in the normal course of things? How did you grip the book, the knife? Anything that’s even slightly off on that we can get thrown out.”

“There are a lot of uncertainties there. If everything is in the right place, then it doesn’t explain how my fingerprints got on the items.”

“No, but let’s take it one step at a time. The point is there are options. Nothing is set in stone.”

“The hair we can easily get thrown out,” said Abby, warming to Kane’s theme. “He could have got that from work, from my chair or anywhere really. My hair gets in the most surprising places.”

Kane smiled. “Yes. I found one of your hairs on my suit jacket after I’d put it on your bed the other week. That kind of transfer is easily done.”

“The DNA on the glass is more difficult to explain, though.”

“Pfft, DNA! The only thing DNA is good for is convincing a jury who watches too much CSI. I’ve used touch DNA before to get someone off a charge. The scientists need such a small amount now to obtain an analysis as you know, but that means it’s open to terrible abuse. You said he kissed you, right, unwanted.”

“Yes,” said Abby, shuddering as she remembered the touch of his lips, the power of him as he held her.

“And we have that on camera, so it can’t be denied by the prosecution. We say that he had your DNA on his lips, and he went home and he drank from the glass and that’s where the trace came from.”

“Yes,” said Abby, starting to feel hopeful.

“None of this is a technicality in the way you’re thinking I usually do. It’s plausible. It has to be, because it’s true. We’re not lying, we’re not obfuscating. We’re finding the reasons why this evidence isn’t reliable.

“There’s still the diary.”

Kane waved his hand in the air dismissively. “The fantasies of a rejected stalker. I’ve already got my team pulling the CCTV from around his apartment. As soon as we can pin the dates down of when you’re supposed to have gone there and seduced him we can search them for sightings of you, which there won’t be.”

“You can’t prove a negative, though. It only shows that I wasn’t caught on camera, not that I wasn’t there.”

“True, but it creates a doubt, and I’m looking into Rafael, because I’m not convinced he’s simply the innocent victim in all this. He had your scarf. That could be because he was in love with you and it was unrequited and he took the scarf when you were out one night, or it could be he did it on purpose, that he was being directed by someone.”

“And then he was murdered? This is all so ridiculous, Kane.”

“You’re being framed for murder, one of the best lawyers in this state, and one of the nicest people by all accounts. How ridiculous is that?”

Abby sighed. “We have to find out who’s doing this, regardless of what happens with the other evidence.” She got up, started to gather the empty plates together.

“We will,” said Kane. “Leave those. You’re not clearing up as well as cooking. Go and relax while I sort it out.”

Abby took the remains of her drink and went to sit on Kane’s sofa. She should go home soon, but she was too full to move right now. His coffee table was covered in law books and papers. She picked up his legal pad, tried to decipher his notes, but his handwriting was small and spidery and she could only make out one word in three. Her name came up frequently, so he’d been working on the case before she’d knocked on his door and disrupted his day. He'd made a note to go to her house, trace the possible routes from there to Rafael’s apartment, look at the CCTV along the way. Was he looking for Rafael, or her?

It wouldn’t be a surprise if he was investigating her as though she was a suspect. He should do, really, because the more possibilities he could rule out the better. If the police thought their evidence was watertight, they might not have done this kind of work, and especially not if they’d realised she wasn’t on any of the CCTV. Her not leaving her house didn’t suit the narrative they were building, and Kane was right; they would dismiss anything that didn’t fit.

She scanned the rest of the coffee table. There was only one non-law related book, and Abby picked it up. Underworld, by Don DeLillo. It was well-thumbed, so he must read this a lot.

“Have you read that?” said Kane as he returned with another bottle of wine. He held the bottle towards Abby. She hesitated, because she’d had a fair amount already, and then she presented her glass for refilling. She hadn’t been drunk since this all started, because she didn’t like to do it alone, was scared where it might lead when she was alone in a hotel with a bar night after night. It might be nice to let go for once, just a little. Kane poured himself a glass, and then he sank down onto the sofa next to Abby.

“I haven’t read it, but I know a little about it. Something to do with a baseball.”

“That’s the catalyst, but it’s about a lot more than that. It’s about what it means to be an American in the second half of the twentieth century. You and I may be too young to have lived through most of it, but it’s shaped us, just by virtue of being born here.”

“And that interests you, does it? What makes us tick.”

“Doesn’t it you? We see so much in our line of work, the whole human condition, everything people are capable of, what they’re prepared to do, where they draw the line, where they don’t. It’s fascinating to me.”

“I like to see the good in people I suppose, despite what I see every day.”

“I don’t think it’s about seeing good or bad for me, just the truth about what people are.”

“There’s good and bad in everyone,” said Abby, sipping her drink and smiling.

“That’s a song.”

“Yeah, but I can’t remember which one.”

To her enormous surprise, Kane sang the words softly, finding the next line, singing that. He had a good voice, deep, soulful.

“Oh, Ebony and Ivory,” he said, before he got to that part of the lyrics.

“That’s the one. You have a nice voice.”

“Thanks.”

“I want to get drunk,” said Abby, her words spilling out suddenly, causing Kane to cough as he was drinking his wine.

His brow was furrowed as he looked at her. “Okay.”

“Safely,” she said. She gazed at him, hoping he would get what she meant, that she wouldn’t have to spell it out, and that he wouldn’t take it as a rejection.

“I understand.” His brown eyes were kind as they roamed her face, checking her meaning. How had she thought they were cold before? They were anything but.

“I knew you would.” Abby sat back against the sofa. She must already be more than a little drunk, or she would never have said these things to him. “Can I put my legs up?”

“Of course.”

She stretched out along one side of the L-shape. Kane sat next to her, put his feet on the coffee table.

“Do you want to watch TV or a movie?”

“A movie sounds good.”

“Okay.” He switched on the TV, flicked through the movie channels. “They have Gangs of New York,” he said, turning to her with a grin.

“Perfect,” said Abby. “I do like a movie that takes me out of my real life.”

Kane snorted at that, and then he settled back next to her with his glass in his hand. Abby sipped her drink, tried to concentrate on the movie.

When she woke it was light, and her head was banging. She lifted it gingerly, looked around. She was in her hotel room, lying fully clothed on her bed. Oh, god. How much had she drunk? Had she embarrassed herself? She had a vague memory of cold air and Kane with his arm around her, holding her up. It would probably all come back to her later. She groaned, looked at the clock. It was quarter to eight. Oh, well, it was Sunday, and it wasn’t as if she had anything to get up for. She was about to roll over and go back to sleep when she noticed something on the side table. A book. She reached across, picked it up. It was the one Kane had been reading, Underworld. There was a Post-it stuck to it, the handwriting familiar, but written more carefully than usual so she could read it.

_Don’t worry. You were the perfect gentleman, and so was I. Enjoy the book. Marcus_

Her breath caught in her throat and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the kindness of the words, mixed with humour, which she had come to recognise as his signature, at least with her. Or maybe it was his name, Marcus, which she’d never called him, because he’d always been Kane. Kane her opponent, Kane her nemesis, Kane her lawyer. Who was Marcus? Was she ready for him?


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby receives a shocking text, manages to upset Kane, and then has a proposal for him!

Abby was at the Legal Aid clinic two days later when the first text arrived.

_Murderer_ it said.

What the hell? Her heart was racing as she peered at it, thinking perhaps she’d misread the simple word. No. There it was. Not even in capitals, so it read more like a statement than a shout of abuse. She took a screenshot, then looked at the number. It wasn’t one she recognised, although she’d lost most of her contacts when the police had taken her phone. She wrote the number on her legal pad, along with the date and time.

“Are you ‘kay, Miss Griffin?” asked Madi, the child whose parent she was here to counsel.

“I’m fine. Sorry about that.” Abby stroked the four-year-old’s long brown hair. “You were telling me about when your wife died,” she said to Bellamy, the father.

Later, on a break between clients, she showed the text to Niylah.

“Creepy,” she said.

“Yeah. Do you recognise the number?”

Niylah started to input the number into her phone. “My phone doesn’t. I guess it could be from anyone.”

“Yes, but there are only a handful of people with this new number. You, Kane, Raven, my mom and stepfather.”

“The police, I presume,” said Niylah.

“Yes, and I suppose people from Kane’s office will have access to it, and people from here.”

“That’s quite a wide net.”

“Yes, but why would any of them want to send this to me?”

“It could be the police, trying to unsettle you.”

Abby still struggled to see herself as the suspected criminal she was in the eyes of the police and the DA, so it was hard to think that they might treat her like this. “I suppose.”

“Let’s call it, see what happens.”

Abby called the number, but it was disconnected. “Nothing,” she said, putting the phone on speaker so Niylah could hear the message.

“See if it’s a one-off but keep a log if you start to get more.”

“I’ve took a screenshot and recorded the information,” said Abby.

“Probably best if you tell Kane as well.”

“Yeah,” said Abby, but she didn’t want to run to him every time she had a problem. She could handle this herself.

Later that night she sat in her room with takeout Chinese and called Raven.

“Abby!” she said in a warm friendly voice. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. I’m doing good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m working at the clinic doing my pro bono work three days a week and it’s great.”

“Oh, I’m so glad.”

“How’s things over there?”

Raven grunted. “Bad. Pike’s mood just gets worse every day. I don’t know what’s the matter with him. He just dictates now. Do this, do that. There’s no room for discussion.”

“He was always like that.”

“Yeah, but he would sometimes listen if he was in a good mood. Now there’s only one mood, and it’s black.”

“I guess it’s all my fault,” said Abby.

“I don’t know. In his eyes, I guess. We’re short staffed obviously, because you’re not there, and he won’t recruit, says we can’t afford it.”

“Because I’m on full pay.”

“Don’t you give that up!”

“I’m not, don’t worry.”

“Good.”

Abby was silent for a moment. She had called Raven to ask her if she’d given her number to anyone else, but she didn’t want to upset her, damage the only good friendship she had.

“Are you sure you’re okay? That bastard Kane isn’t annoying you too much, is he?”

“No, it’s not Kane. He’s fine.”

“What is it then? I can tell there’s something.”

“I had a text today, from an unknown number, calling me a murderer.”

“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you start with that!”

“I don’t know. I just... I didn’t want to ask you this.”

“Spit it out, Abby,” said Raven in a soft voice.

“You haven’t given my number to anyone else, have you?”

There was silence for the length of a heartbeat. “No, of course not.”

“I’m sorry to ask you. I really am.”

“With what you’re going through, I don’t blame you. You should be suspicious of everybody.”

That wasn’t a comforting thought, even though it was true. “I know. I knew you hadn’t. I just had to ask.”

“It’s fine. Honestly. I have something that might cheer you up, well not cheer you up exactly, but something you asked for.”

“What’s that?” said Abby, who could barely remember what she had for breakfast after the day she’d had.

“I’ve got the first of the files you wanted. I’ll email it to you but I have to take it to a Staples to scan it in first. I don’t want to risk doing it at work.”

Abby had forgotten she’d asked Raven to get the files on the mobsters she’d put away. “That’s fantastic, thanks so much for doing that.”

“It’s not a problem. Now, do you want to talk about something else?”

“Yes, please,” said Abby, relieved. She ate more of the Chinese and listened while Raven updated her on the ongoing saga of her mother’s feud with her sister. She was entertaining in her story telling, and Abby was prone on the bed with laughter by the end of it.

\---

Kane was halfway through a particularly good apple cinnamon donut Harper had given him when his phone rang. He contemplated ignoring it so he could finish the treat, but then he saw it was his mother, and decided it would be best to get it over with, as he hadn’t spoken to her in a while.

“Hi, mom,” he said, licking cinnamon dust off his fingers.

“You’re alive, then,” said Vera in a disapproving tone.

“No, this is my ghost speaking.”

His mother sighed in response. “You never change,” she said.

“You wouldn’t want me any other way,” replied Kane.

“I don’t know about that. I’m surprised you haven’t called me.”

“Why? Have I missed something? Did Flora have a birthday?” he said sarcastically. Flora was his mother’s pet pig. She’d bought her when Kane moved to New York and he never missed an opportunity to wind her up about how she’d replaced her precious only son with a pig. She’d be fifteen now, which was getting old for a pig. Oh, he hoped she hadn’t died or something terrible. He felt a tinge of regret at the tone he’d taken. “She’s okay, I presume?”

“Flora is fine. At least she spends time with me.”

“She has no choice!”

Vera ignored his comment. “I’m talking about this case you’ve taken. The District Attorney.”

“Assistant District Attorney,” corrected Kane.

“Yes, Abby something.”

“Griffin. News has reached Ithaca has it?”

“We’re not the back of beyond. We have the internet now, you know.”

Kane laughed. His mother could be as sarcastic as him when she wanted to be; he’d probably inherited it from her, along with his soft side which he tried to suppress. He’d got his olive skin and his dark hair and eyes from his father’s side of the family, who hailed from the Mediterranean. His toughness was all his own.

“What do you want to know, mom?”

“Nothing. I was just wondering how it was going. What she’s like.”

“You want the gossip, you mean.”

“Not at all.”

“She’s a good person. I can’t really tell you a lot else.” Kane picked off a chunk of the donut, popped it in his mouth.

“You think she’s innocent, then.”

“I do, yes,” he said, chewing on the pastry.

“I thought she seemed too pretty to be a murderer.”

Kane laughed, and nearly inhaled a piece of donut. He coughed to clear his throat. “Attractive people commit crimes too.”

“I know, but I just got a feeling about her. You know how I am with those.”

“I do, yes.” Vera’s ‘feelings’ had led her to represent a number of dubious clients for free over the years. Kane didn’t entirely trust them, well not at all, except in this case, obviously.

“I was going to come up and see you before this all happened,” he said.

“Oh, really! That would be lovely, Marcus.”

He could hear the delight in Vera’s voice. He’d been putting it off since he got Abby’s case, but he was still curious to know about his uncle Frank’s past life, and there was the Luca Romano connection now with Abby’s stepfather. It might prove a fruitful visit. “I was thinking this weekend, if you’re free?”

“Oh, yes! There’s an apple festival on and I could do with your help.”

Kane groaned inwardly. He’d been planning a quiet weekend at the farm, enjoying the fresh air and his mother’s home cooking, not a public event. He should have realised, though.

“Sounds great,” he said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his voice. “I’ll come up Friday.”

“Wonderful, Marcus,” said Vera, and he could picture the smile on her round, soft face. “I’ll make up your old room. What would you like for dinner?”

“Lasagne, and your focaccia.” His mouth watered as he said the words. It would be worth going for the food alone.

“It will be waiting for you.”

“Thanks, mom. I have to go now. I love you.”

“I love you too, son. Drive carefully.”

“I will. Bye.” Kane closed the call and finished the rest of his donut. A weekend of blue skies and falling leaves and his mother’s food was just what he needed.

\---

By Thursday of that week Abby had received eight texts, each from different numbers. A couple of them made her laugh, because they sounded like the titles of terrible horror films.

_I know what you did_

_You’d better watch out_

_We know where you live_

They were ridiculous, and she convinced herself they were from some bored teenager who’d hacked her phone. Then the last two came in quick succession, and she knew she was going to have to tell Kane, and maybe even the police, not that they’d listen to her or care.

She brought Kane’s number up on her phone with some trepidation, because he was going to be annoyed that she’d kept this from him. She should have told him straight away like Niylah had advised her to do, but she was fed up of needing to be defended by him as though he was her white knight.

“Hi, it’s me,” she said when he answered.

“Oh, hi,” he said, sounding distracted. “That’s not what I wanted,” she heard him say, his voice muffled as though he was covering the mouthpiece so she couldn’t hear him. “Goddamn idiot boy,” he said, his voice louder.

“Who?” said Abby.

“That Jasper Jordan. How he passed the bar I will never know. Standards must have slipped.”

“You’re busy,” said Abby. “I’ll call another time.” He sounded like he was already in a bad mood, and God knows what he was going to be like when he heard Abby’s news.

“No, it’s fine. Are you okay? Everything alright?”

“Erm, not really. I’ve had some texts, unpleasant ones.”

“What do you mean, unpleasant?” Concern caused his voice to soften at the edges.

“Calling me names, like murderer, and some threats.”

“Threats! When did these come?”

Abby hesitated. “Erm. Don’t be mad.”

“Abby,” he said, and he managed to infuse that one word with frustration, annoyance, concern and resignation.

“I got the first on Monday.”

“And you’re only just telling me now?”

Abby heard the scrape of his chair as he pushed it back. She could see him standing up so he could give full vent to his fury. He probably had one hand on his hip in exasperation.

“Before you explode, let me say that I thought the first few were some idiot kid messing around...”

“That’s for me to judge,” he said, interrupting her.

“I’m quite capable of judging things for myself!” said Abby, and she didn’t need to be able to see him to know that his eyebrows had raised to ceiling height. “You seem to forget that I’m a lawyer too. I know how to handle things like this.”

He sighed. “I know you think you know best...”

“I do! Who knows what’s best for me better than me?”

“Me! It’s what your family’s paying me for!”

“Exactly, you’re being paid. You’re in this for the money.” She heard him suck air between his teeth and knew she’d gone too far with that, but her stubbornness wouldn’t let her back down.

“You really are infuriating sometimes; do you know that?” he said quietly.

“I’m in charge of my own life, Kane, and my own decisions,” she said desperately, because she didn’t want to cede control to him, let him be the saviour, tell her what to do as though she didn’t have a mind of her own.

“No, you’re not, Abby. I know this is hard for you to accept, but you’re not in charge anymore, and we have to make decisions together. I’m not in this for the money, or because I have nothing better to do. I’m here for you, and if someone is threatening you, I damned well want to know about it!”

“Okay!” she said, because she knew he was right; she’d always known it, and it was incredibly irritating.

“Where are you?” he said, the anger having completely left his voice.

She considered a sarcastic answer but was too tired, and he didn’t deserve it. He was here for her like he’d said, and she knew that. “I’m at the hotel.”

“I’ll come around as soon as I can. It will probably be seven. I want to see these texts.”

“I’ll meet you in the bar,” said Abby, thinking that a public place would help them both contain any future explosions of temper.

“Later, then,” said Kane.

“Kane,” said Abby, before he could end the call.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You can buy me a drink and tell me that in person,” he said, and then the line went dead.

\---

Kane had regained his equilibrium by the time he reached Abby’s hotel. His staff had taken the brunt of his temper, but they were used to that. He wasn’t annoyed anymore that she’d kept the texts from him. It was her insinuation that he was only in this for the money that had upset him. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she would think that, because it was his reputation after all, and most of the time it was true. He’d thought they were reaching an understanding, finding common ground, developing a friendship that transcended lawyer-client, or professional rivals, and then she’d said that, and he wondered if that’s what she’d been thinking all along.

He'd let her draw him in, not that she’d done it deliberately, because she’d made it quite clear the other night that she viewed him in platonic terms only. He was someone she felt safe getting drunk with, falling asleep with. She didn’t know the effect she’d had on him, and it wasn’t her fault that his feelings had been hurt. She probably didn’t think he had feelings. They were a surprise to him, so he couldn’t blame her.

Abby needed to realise and accept that she was his client, and so did he, starting tonight.

He pushed open the door to the hotel bar and scanned the room. She was sitting in a banquette in the corner. Her hair was loose, and she was wearing a cream blouse. She’d probably look good even in an orange jumpsuit, but he was going to make sure she never had to wear one of those. She must have been looking for him, because she saw him immediately and gestured him over.

“I got you a whisky,” she said. “I figured you’d need it.”

“Thank you,” said Kane, and he took off his coat and hung it over the back of a chair before taking a seat next to Abby.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, before he had chance to speak further. “I didn’t mean that you’re only here because you’re being paid. I know that’s not your motivation. It was uncalled for. I... I appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

Kane wondered if she’d been rehearsing what to say to him since he’d ended their call. “It’s fine,” he said.

“No,” said Abby, and she put her hand on his. “It’s not.”

Kane felt his resolve starting to slip, so he took his hand away, gently, so as not to appear as though he was rejecting her apology. “Why don’t you show me these texts?”

She handed him her phone and he scrolled through the texts. She was right, the first few did sound like they’d been written by a kid, or an idiot. An idiot kid, like Jasper Jordan who worked for him. The last two were something else entirely, though.

_Plead guilty or there will be consequences_

_You don’t want to end up like your boyfriend _

“I don’t like these, Abby,” he said. “They’re clear threats.”

“I know, but why would anyone bother sending them? I’d be crazy to plead guilty when I’m not.”

“They must be from whoever is setting you up. They probably know their evidence is flimsy and want to intimidate you to make sure they get what they want.”

“Someone really wants to get rid of me!” said Abby, her eyes confused and sad when they looked at Kane. His heart went out to her.

“Is there nothing you can think of that you’ve stumbled across, something that seemed insignificant at the time?”

Abby shook her head. “I’ve thought of little else the last month. I spoke to Raven earlier, though, and she’s got one of my old files ready to send me, so I can start to look through it, see if anything jumps out.”

“That’s great, Abby,” said Kane, trying to boost her spirits.

“Yeah.”

“We’re making progress.”

She nodded, unconvinced. He took a sip of his whisky, and it slid down his throat like warm sandpaper, making his chest burn. He wanted to cough, but kept it in check as Abby had swallowed a mouthful with no obvious effects.

“Have you guessed which one it is?” Abby said.

“The whisky?” said Kane, confused.

“Yes. You’re good at identifying them from the taste alone.”

Was he? Why did she think that? Oh, that night in the Whiskey Tavern. “Ah,” he said, fixing her with a sheepish look. “I may have cheated there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw the barman pour your drink; already knew you were drinking Aberlour.”

“Are you kidding me?” Abby’s indignant face was a picture. It made Kane laugh.

“Sorry.”

“I bet you use that on all the girls, don’t you? Is that your chat up line?”

“I haven’t met many women who drink whisky.” In fact he’d only ever used that line on Abby, because in his drunken state he’d wanted to impress his superiority on her, have her in awe of him. Idiot.

She smiled and took another sip of her whisky. “I have some Boston Irish in me, on my father’s side. This is Scotch, though. Lagavulin.”

“Ah. It tastes like antiseptic.”

“Yes, but it grows on you.”

“I could get used to it.” He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and he was glad they’d got over their spat earlier. He didn’t have the energy for constant fights at the moment.

“So, I was thinking,” said Abby, looking at him over the rim of her glass. “Maybe this weekend we could go to that jazz club you talked about last week.”

Her suggestion took him by surprise, and he stared at her. Where had this come from? And damn it, why now, when he’d made plans to go upstate? “Oh,” was the only word that came out of his stupid, thoughtless mouth. He saw her face fall.

“It was just... I could do with a night out, or something, you know. Take my mind off things. I just thought it might be fun. You’re probably busy.” She took a large gulp of her whisky.

“Well that’s just it. I’m not going to be here this weekend. I’m going to Ithaca tomorrow to visit my mother.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Sorry. I would have loved to go otherwise.”

“It’s okay. Another time.”

“Definitely,” said Kane, rueing his bad timing, although he was supposed to be keeping a professional distance, so maybe it was just as well he wasn’t going to be here.

They sat in silence. Kane drank his whisky, resisted the temptation to look at his watch. He kept fooling himself into thinking they were getting to know each other better, but they weren’t really, and at times like this it was obvious.

“Take me with you,” said Abby suddenly.

“What?” said a shocked Kane.

“Let me come with you to Ithaca. I won’t be any trouble.”

Kane stared at her open-mouthed. Take her to his home? To his mother? Did he want to let her into that part of his life, to see the farm boy in him, as her stepfather had so dismissively labelled him?

“I...”

“Please, Kane. I know it’s presumptuous, but I’m going crazy here. I’m living in a hotel, my life is shattered, I can’t go anywhere or do anything without being gossiped about and scrutinised. People are sending me threatening texts. I need a break. I need to get away!”

She sounded so desperate, and he realised it must have been a difficult thing to ask him, especially after the conversation they’d had earlier, about her managing her own life. He gave in to the inevitable.

“If you think you can survive a weekend with me and my mother, you’re welcome,” he said.

Relief flooded her face. “I’m sure I will. Thank you.”

“I grew up on a farm,” he said. “It’s not very modern.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure I’ll cope.”

“No, I mean it. My mother doesn’t believe in wasting heat so it’s always cold. You’d better get some warm clothes. It’s freezing at night at this time of year. Also, I’m helping her at an apple festival, so you’ll probably have to pitch in. My mother doesn’t take any prisoners.”

“Like her son,” said Abby with a grin. “I’m really looking forward to it now. It will be an adventure.” She settled against the back of the banquette with her drink, a smile on her face.

Kane wondered how he was going to survive a weekend with Abby when only half an hour ago he’d vowed to keep her at arm’s length. This was going to be a test of his new-found resolve.

“It’s a five-hour drive, so I’ll pick you up at eleven. Is that enough time to get what you need?”

“I’ll get to the stores first thing. I don’t need much of an excuse to shop.”

Kane drained the rest of his whisky. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Kane walked out into the chill October air. What had he just agreed to? His mother was going to love him turning up with Abby; he’d never hear the end of it. He wasn’t going to forewarn her, give her time to think up all sorts of scenarios about the nature of their relationship. If he came away from this weekend unscathed, he’d be amazed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane and Abby set off on a trip upstate to Ithaca! There's a farm, Vera, and Abby falls in love, but who with?!

Abby was standing outside the hotel lobby bang on eleven when Kane rolled up in a huge black Jeep Wrangler. She wasn’t sure if it would be him or his car service, but the window rolled down and his face peered out from the driver’s side.

“Put your bag in the back,” he said, and Abby opened the rear door and slid her large overnight bag onto the seat next to his.

She pulled open the heavy passenger door and got in. The bucket seat was padded and comfortable, and she settled into it.

“Is this yours?” she said.

“Yes. I don’t get to drive it often; it’s mostly garaged.”

“It’s big for New York,” she said.

“Yes, but not for where we’re going.” He put the car into drive and slipped out into the mid-morning traffic. “Did you get what you needed from the stores?” he said.

She looked over at him. He was dressed casually in a black sweater over a white t-shirt, and black jeans. His hair was ungelled and wavy. He looked good, she had to admit, but then she’d always thought he was handsome. It was one of the many things that used to irritate her about him. How good-looking he was, and how much he knew it.

“I think so! I got some sweaters and a warm coat and a pair of wellingtons.”

“And you fit all that in one bag?”

“And my case file and notebook, and the book you gave me.”

“I thought you wanted a break?”

“I do, but you know, I brought it just in case. I suppose your bag is case file free?”

“There might be the odd work-related thing in it.” He flashed a quick grin at her before returning his attention to the road.

Abby looked out of the window as the sights of New York flashed past. “Do you visit your mother often?” she said after a few minutes’ silence.

“Not if I can help it.”

“Why not?”

He turned to look at her when they stopped at a red light. “Are you going to talk the entire way there?”

“Why? Do you want to sit in silence?”

“I usually do. I like to use this time to think.”

Abby looked at him incredulously. “It’s a five-hour drive! You want me to be quiet for five hours?”

“You made me be quiet last week for nearly that long. In my own home, may I add!”

“That was different!”

“Why?”

The car behind them honked its horn, and Kane moved off.

“I don’t know. It just was. That’s my process.”

“And this is my process.”

“Hmm.” Abby folded her arms and looked out of the window again.

They headed into the Holland Tunnel, and Abby gripped the edge of her seat. She always hated being under the water, could feel the weight of it pressing down on her. She couldn’t sit in here in silence thinking about what was above her.

“What’s your mom called?”

Kane glanced at her. “You can’t do it, can you?”

“What?”

“Keep quiet.”

“I can, but I don’t see the point. We have five hours trapped in here together. It’s kind of freaky to be quiet the whole time.”

Kane’s nose twitched. “My mom’s called Vera. I expect you’ll like her.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re similar in lots of ways.”

“I see,” said Abby, unsure how to take that, as he’d said earlier that he tried not to see his mom if he could help it.

Kane didn’t elaborate, so they sat in silence again until they emerged on the other side of the tunnel in New Jersey.

“My mom listens to podcasts while she’s travelling,” Abby said, having a sudden revelation.

“Hmm,” said Kane, sounding unconvinced.

“Let me see what I can find.”

Abby searched her phone for something they might both enjoy. “What about this? It’s called In The Dark, about a man who keeps being tried for the same crime.”

“A disreputable prosecutor?” said Kane, and she could see him raise his eyebrows.

“Perhaps,” said Abby.

“Let’s see,” said Kane.

Abby bluetoothed her phone to his console, and pressed play.

Two hours and four episodes later Kane pulled off the state road and onto a minor road. He stopped at a lakeside diner and Abby jumped out, relieved to be able to stretch her legs. They were in the Catskill mountains, and the air was clean and fresh. She breathed in a good lungful.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, looking around the wooded lake. Fall was in full swing up here, and the multicoloured trees were reflected in the still water, like a painter’s palette.

“I don’t always come this way,” said Kane, as he stretched his long body, arms in the air. “But I thought you’d like it. It’s prettier than going up through Scranton.”

“I love it.”

“Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

They entered the diner and sat at the window overlooking the lake. The diner was out of the nineteen fifties, not in a pastiche way, but literally. Everything seemed original, like it hadn’t changed since the place first opened. It was clean, though, and the coffee was strong and bitter and just what Abby needed. They ordered pancakes with eggs and Canadian bacon and ate them while staring out at the lake.

“It’s DAs like that guy that make me get up in a morning,” said Kane, continuing the discussion they’d been having in between episodes of the podcast. His need for silence had disappeared as soon as he’d got interested in the case. “There’s a gaping hole in the law if a man can be tried time and time again for the same crime just because he was never technically convicted. It makes a mockery of double jeopardy.”

“There’s a lot of political pressure on the DA to get a guilty verdict, especially if everyone knows, or thinks they know, the person did the crime,” said Abby. “I know it’s something that drives Pike, and even I’ve felt it in the past.”

“The DA should either bring his best case or accept that he doesn’t have the evidence to secure the conviction.”

“It’s hard to do that. We prosecutors are humans too, you know. The thought that someone you truly believe is guilty is going to end up back on the streets, potentially killing someone else, is a huge motivator for trying to get the conviction.”

“Not by any means, though. There are rules.”

“And you would know about rules,” said Abby with a snort. “You play fast and loose with them all the time!”

“You see, you say that, but I don’t think I do. I don’t make things up. I use the law to its fullest extent. The same tools I use are available to you.”

“Come on, Kane. You twist and bend the law to suit you and your clients. You’ve got so many guilty people off. Don’t you feel bad about that at all?”

She thought Kane would get mad at her question, which was more like an accusation, but he ate a slice of bacon and looked patiently at her while he chewed it. He probably got asked this all the time.

“I will admit I am creative when it comes to the law,” he said. “Do I feel guilty?” He puffed out his cheeks. “No. Besides, I do lots of things to mitigate what my clients do.”

Oh, this was interesting. Abby pushed back her empty plate and sat forward, her elbows on the table. “Such as?”

“There was a case I was working on before you took over my life, a drunk driver. He got into a one car accident and was booked on a DUI. Prominent businessman, didn’t want a criminal record. I found a problem with the breathalyser kits the police used. Miller took over the case and there was insufficient evidence to proceed, so it never went to trial. I didn’t like the idea of a drunk driver being on the streets, so I got him into rehab. Last I heard he was doing okay.”

“Sounds like guilt to me,” said Abby, although she was impressed with Kane’s story. She hadn’t thought he cared enough about his clients or anybody else to go to that amount of trouble.

Kane gave a sort of half shrug, half laugh. “Maybe, a little. Like I said in the journal article, I’d let a thousand guilty people go free, if it means I can prevent the one innocent person from being convicted.” He looked poignantly at her.

“Just the one innocent person?” Abby said.

“The only one that matters.” Kane got up and disappeared to the restroom, leaving Abby with her heart thumping against her chest at his words. He didn’t mean anything by it, she was sure, but it was nice to think that she mattered to him, that he cared, especially after she’d accused him of being money-orientated not twenty-four hours ago.

They settled into a quieter routine for the rest of the journey, still listening to the podcast, but commenting less. Abby spent most of the time looking out of the window. There was nothing but trees for as far as she could see, all turning into their Fall colours, bright against the blue sky. The forecast was good for the weekend, and she was looking forward to seeing Ithaca, where she’d never been, and Kane’s home of course.

Her curiosity about his upbringing had already been piqued when she’d found out he was raised upstate and not in the city. Now she was burning with it, fascinated to meet the woman who’d raised Marcus Kane, the place that had shaped him, one way or another.

\---

Kane’s heart started to beat faster the closer they drew to Ithaca. He’d never brought anyone from his New York life here; had steadfastly maintained a separation between past and present, the boy he used to be and the man he now was. Now he was bringing Abby of all people. What would she make of the ramshackle farmhouse and the animals, and all the mud and shit that generally caked their lives here? She had a beautiful, neat home, liked nice things, always looked good. This was a far cry from her Greenwich home and his loft, from their lives in the city.

He drove through the town and down the side of Cayuga Lake, turning onto a side road a couple of miles along and then off onto the track that led to Green Acres Farm. They bumped along the uneven ground, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Abby grab onto the door handle.

“Sorry,” he said. “This is why I need the Jeep.”

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice juddering amusingly as they went over a particularly rutted section of the lane. 

Kane turned the last corner and pulled up outside the front of the farmhouse. He wasn’t surprised to see his mother hadn’t painted the clapboard for another year. The grey was stained green beneath the windows where water had dripped and moss was growing. The balustrades of the veranda were also stained, and some were missing. New leaves were falling on top of old mouldy ones on the veranda roof, and there were shingles missing everywhere. There must be leaks all over the house. He was going to have to spend more time here soon, fix things up, as Vera refused to let him get outside help.

Abby got out of the car and Kane followed. “It’s amazing!” she said as she gazed at the building.

“You don’t have to lie,” said Kane, opening the back door and retrieving their bags. “It’s a heap, always has been.”

“No. It’s old, it’s beautiful. It’s your home,” she said, turning to look at him. “I love it.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.” Kane looked at the house again. All he could see was the childhood prison he’d longed to escape from.

“It’s like the house at Green Gables,” said Abby as she walked towards the porch.

“The what?”

“You know, the house in Anne of Green Gables. The book.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” replied Kane, assuming it must be some kids book girls liked to read.

“You even have gables!” She pointed to the attic room where they kept all the junk and Kane used to hide when he didn’t want to muck out the pigs or feed yet another orphaned rescue lamb.

Her face was alive with joy as she took everything in, and Kane was surprised and somewhat gratified that she seemed to genuinely like his home. She hadn’t seen inside yet, so that might change things.

He headed towards the veranda and the porch door swung open. His mother came out, dressed in her usual baggy pants with the purple and yellow swirling pattern that made his eyes hurt, and a white cheesecloth blouse covered with a floured apron. A smile lit up her round face when she saw Kane and it turned to surprise when Abby emerged from behind him.

“Oh, hello!” she said.

“Hi, mom,” said Kane. “This is...”

“Abby, yes, I recognise you. Hello, dear. Welcome.” Vera teetered down the wooden steps and enveloped Abby in one of her breath-sucking hugs.

“Hello, Mrs Kane,” said Abby when she was released.

“Vera, please.” Vera stood back and appraised Abby openly. “You’re even prettier in the flesh,” she said.

“Oh, thank you.” Abby glanced at Kane, who made no comment. “And thank you for allowing me to stay.”

“That’s alright, dear,” said Vera, looking at Kane with narrowed eyes. “Let’s get you inside. It’s getting cold already.” She ushered Abby into the house and through the foyer into the kitchen, which was always the warmest room in the house. She cleared a pile of knitting from the old wing backed chair by the fire. “Sit down. I’ll put the kettle on. Marcus, will you help me?”

Kane put his and Abby’s bags by the door and followed his mother to the sink. He took the old kettle off the stove, filled it with water. Vera stood beside him. “You could have warned me!” she whispered.

“I didn’t know she was coming until last night,” he whispered back.

“I have a telephone, you know.”

“I know.”

“Is she staying with you in your room?”

“No. She’s just a friend, I suppose.”

“You suppose? What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Just, don’t do your usual thing and interfere,” he hissed while he fumbled in a drawer for matches to light the hob.

“I only made up your room. I’ll have to go and sort one out for her.”

“I’ll do it. It’s fine.” Kane looked towards Abby to make sure she wasn’t listening to their conversation. She was watching them, but he didn’t think she could hear. “Don’t interrogate her while I’m gone,” he said. “She’s my client, and she’s vulnerable.”

“What do you take me for, Marcus?” said Vera in an annoyed tone.

Kane gave her his double raised eyebrow look which told her exactly what he took her for.

“I’ll be good,” said Vera, then she turned to Abby. “Do you want tea or coffee, dear?”

“Coffee would be great, with milk if you have it.”

Kane returned to Abby while Vera arranged the cups. “I just have a couple of things to do. I won’t be long.”

“Okay.”

He left Abby in the chair, and praying that his mother would behave herself, he picked up their bags and went upstairs, depositing them both for the time being in his room. The room next door was the best of the eight bedrooms in the crumbling old house, after his and his mother’s, and he went inside. It smelt damp and mouldy. He shoved against the window fastener to make it open, hoping that the wood wouldn’t disintegrate. There were no sheets on the bed, so he went back to his room and took the ones off his bed which smelled clean and fresh and put them on Abby’s. He could have just put her in his room, but he had no idea what was lurking in his drawers and cupboards and didn’t like the thought of her finding some ancient embarrassing item from his past.

He found a spare quilt in his cupboard that seemed dry and put that on her bed. It was one of the better ones, with patchwork flowers enclosed in yellow bordered squares. It brightened the room at least. Kane went downstairs and back out onto the porch and picked up an armful of wood, struggling back upstairs with it barely able to see where he was going. He made up the fire and lit it to warm the room and take the edge off the damp. Hopefully by the time Abby went to bed the room would be good enough for her to sleep in. He put damp, less pleasant-smelling sheets on his own bed and turned back his quilt to let them air. He placed Abby’s bag on her bed, and then returned to the kitchen.

Abby and Vera were standing at opposite sides of the large farmhouse table, both elbow-deep in bowls of flour and olive oil.

“Abby likes to cook, Marcus,” said Vera, as though he didn’t know.

“She does, yes. She gives you a run for your money.”

“Does she now?” Vera looked at him quizzically.

“He leant me his kitchen so I could cook some frustrations out,” Abby said to Vera. “It was very kind of him.”

“He’s a good man, when he wants to be.”

Kane gave his mother a sarcastic smile in response. “Is there anything that needs doing, apart from the glaringly obvious?” he said.

“You could chop some wood. It’s an endless task.”

He went outside and spent a happy hour gathering the logs and splitting them. It was the one task he’d enjoyed as a kid, because it involved a dangerous tool and a lot of destruction. That pleasure hadn’t diminished over the years, and added to that now was the joy of getting all his frustrations out with every swing of the blade. When he’d finished, he stacked the logs on the veranda, and took another armful of seasoned ones inside. The scent of fried meat and onions hit him, and his stomach growled.

“Dinner will be an hour,” Vera said. “Why don’t you show Abby around before it gets dark?”

“I’d love to meet Flora. Vera’s been telling me all about her.”

“I’ll show you your room first,” said Kane. “You’ll need your wellies.”

He took Abby upstairs and into her room. The damp smell had dissipated in the hour or so since he’d lit the fire, so he closed the window to get the room really warm.

“It’s lovely,” said Abby, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Kane thought the fresh air had got to her head, or maybe everything just seemed quaint and old-fashioned to her modern eyes, because there was nothing lovely about the room or the house to him.

“The bathroom is down the hall. There’s only one, I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine.”

“There’s no central heating in the house as you might have noticed, so I’ll keep your fire stocked up. You’ll have to rekindle it in the morning.”

“I have no idea how to do that,” said Abby.

“I’ll show you in the morning.”

“Okay.” Abby opened her bag and started pulling out smaller bags and clothes and books and finally her wellingtons. They were the most stylish boots Kane had ever seen in Ithaca, dark brown leather with a zip up the side and brown leather strap around the top, unlike his which were black rubber and scuffed and had a leak he always forgot about until it was too late. She took off her shoes, pulled the boots over her slim calves. Kane watched unashamedly, enjoying it more than he should when she tugged on the zip and threaded the leather strap through the buckle and pulled it tight, causing her leg to kick up.

She slipped on a padded jacket the colour of a good French wine and turned down the black furry collar. “Do I look the part?” she said, striking a pose for Kane.

“You look, erm, perfect,” said Kane, unsure what else to say. With her black skinny jeans tucked into her boots and her long, brown hair half in and half out of the jacket, she looked beautiful. Breath-taking.

“Let’s go, then.” Abby waited for Kane to go past, and then followed him down the stairs. Kane pulled on his own much less stylish boots, making a mental note to buy some new ones while he was in town tomorrow, fastened his black padded jacket and headed outside.

“We match!” said Abby, looking at his coat and then at hers.

“You obviously have good taste,” he said, then he led her round the side of the house, righting a couple of fallen chairs as he went, and out through the gate into the field at the back. The grass was overgrown except for the well-trodden path his mother made to feed the various animals lurking in pens or running free around the field.

Two chickens broke through the grass and were as startled as Kane to find themselves with company.

“Shoo!” he said, and they flapped away.

“What animals does your mom keep?” said Abby, staring after the hens.

“God knows. It changes all the time. She rescues them and then sometimes they stay here and other times they get rehomed. There’s usually chickens, the odd lamb, pigs. We had a cow once.”

“A cow?”

“Yeah. Guess whose job it was to milk it!”

“Oh, my God. I can’t see it.” She laughed, then covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. It’s just... You’re always so well put together. You’re so... neat.”

“I was fourteen, and I had no choice.”

“Do you think your choice of lifestyle and how you dress etcetera is a reaction to this, to your life as you were growing up?”

What a question to ask! Kane felt as though she was delving into his psyche, trying to split him open and see what was inside, what made him tick. “Erm. I would say back then I was neat on the inside, but it was impossible to be so on the outside. You’ll see when you’ve been here a couple of days. You get covered in mud and things were constantly crapping on me.”

He stopped talking when Abby’s laughter became impossible to ignore. She stood amongst the tall grass, her hands on her hips, practically bent double. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She wasn’t sorry, because she didn’t stop laughing. “Shut up,” said Kane, nudging her, but he was smiling too. “I suppose your childhood was all art galleries and theatre productions.”

“I was a dancer, actually,” she said, finally calming down.

“Really?”

“Yes, ballet.”

“Oh, hence the prints in your bedroom.”

She looked at him with a frown. “When did you see... oh, right. Erm, yes. Hence the prints.”

“Do you still dance?”

“Only round my living room. I injured my leg, couldn’t dance anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kane.

“It’s okay. The law saved me. Now, where’s this pig?”

Kane picked his way past the chicken coop and the polytunnels, and the vegetable beds that were still heaving with squashes, potatoes and winter carrots and headed towards the barn, the path getting muddier and slipperier the further they went. The pigs were in another field, in their tiny corrugated shelters, but Flora was his mom’s pride and joy, and she had a pen and a hut all her own, which was attached to the leeward side of the old wooden barn to protect it.

“That barn is like something out of a fairytale,” said Abby, gawping up at the dilapidated structure with its brown weathered clapboard, almost black in places, and its deeply sloping tin roof, red with rust and age. Vera’s truck was parked outside, the green metal of the cab rusting like everything else on the farm.

“A Grimm’s fairytale perhaps,” said Kane.

There was no sign of Flora in the pen, so Kane stood by the mesh fence and took a deep breath, preparing for what he hoped was his final embarrassment of the day, talking to a pig.

“Flora!” he said, and warmth flooded his cheeks. Abby was standing next to him, her padded arm touching his. There was no sign of the pig.

“Flora!” he said, louder this time. “It’s me, it’s Marcus.”

“Does she understand what you’re saying?” said Abby, and he could hear a mixture of laughter and incredulity in her voice.

“She understands her name, and mine, and she should recognise my voice. She likes me,” he said, wishing the ground would swallow him up.

“Aww,” said Abby.

“Hmmm,” replied Kane. “Come on, Flora. There’s someone here wants to meet you.”

A grunting noise came from the hut, and a pink hairy snout appeared out of the darkness, followed by the plump, wrinkled, hairy body of Flora. She came over to Kane, and he took an apple from the trough next to the pen and leant over the fence to hand it to her. She snuffled it from him, and he rubbed her nose. “Hey, old girl,” he said.

“Hi, Flora,” said Abby, and she put her hand over the fence towards the pig.

“Let her sniff you first. She needs to get to know you.”

“Okay.” Abby held her hand still, and the pig sniffed at it, grunting.

“I think the grunt is a good sign,” said Kane. “Do you want to give her an apple?”

“Yes! Please.”

He handed Abby another battered, browning apple and she offered it to Flora. Flora grunted again, then took the fruit, breathing heavily as she chomped on it.

“She likes the fruit when it’s half rotten and fermenting,” said Kane. “I think she’s an alcoholic.”

Abby laughed. “She’s adorable.”

“She has her moments.”

They both leaned on the fence, watching the pig finish the apple. “Your mom is lovely,” said Abby. “I really like her.”

“I knew you would. You’re both the same.”

“You keep saying that. What do you mean?” She looked up at him, her eyes bright and questioning. Kane wished he’d never mentioned this.

“Just that you’re both soft, I guess, and you have big hearts.”

“Oh,” said Abby. “I take it soft is bad in your books?”

“Erm, no, well, it depends on the context.”

“You mean I’m too soft to be a prosecutor. You said that to me once. I don’t have the balls.”

Kane rued every stupid thing he’d ever said to her in his life, which was pretty much everything. “I think you could be tougher sometimes, yes, but...” he looked at her pleadingly to let him out of this conversation, but she stood with folded arms and said nothing. “I like your heart. I like that you’re kind, and that you’re good. You’re so much better than me.” God, where was this coming from?

“Hey. That’s not true.” She put her hand on his arm. “You’re a good person.”

Kane grimaced. It wasn’t that he thought he was a bad person, he wasn’t, he just didn’t have the capacity that Abby had to trust, to care, to be open, and warm. “We should get back,” he said.

She looked at him for a long moment, and he thought she was going to say something, but she didn’t. She simply nodded, said “okay.”

They ate dinner at the kitchen table. Vera’s lasagne was as good as ever, redolent of red wine and herbs. He couldn’t tell which of them had made the focaccia or the garlic dough balls and ate too much of both. He sat in the parlour afterwards, in the dim light of the one lamp Vera would allow lit, and snoozed, the voices of his mother and Abby drifting in and out of his consciousness. They were talking about the chronic lack of funding for legal aid. It made him smile, because he’d known it would go like this, that they would get on, like each other. They had so much in common.

When he woke again, they were still talking, and he let them alone. Abby had spent enough time in his company today; it would be good for her to have a break from him. He picked up his book, read a few chapters. He’d been dreading coming here, even before Abby tagged along, and more so once he’d agreed she could come. Now they were here, he felt comfortable, more at home than he had in years. He looked over the top of his book at her. She was laughing with his mom, who was smiling more broadly than he’d ever seen her. It was a cosy scene, the three of them together in the firelight. His heart thumped; his pulse throbbed. God, he didn’t need this. He didn’t need to feel this way about her. Not now.

Vera stretched and yawned. “I’m going to bed.” She stood, pressed a kiss to Abby’s head. “Night, love,” she said.

“Night, Vera.”

She came over to Kane, did the same to him. “Night, son. Don’t stay up too late you two. Big day tomorrow.”

“Night, mom,” said Kane.

“She’s so interesting,” said Abby when Vera had gone.

“Is she?” said Kane.

“The centre she and your father set up in Brooklyn was pioneering you know in its legal aid work, especially with the immigrant population.”

“Yes,” said Kane, who’d never given much thought to the work his parents had done. He’d spent his youth wishing they’d taken proper clients and made lots of money like the parents of his classmates at Cornell.

“You must be so proud of them.” She smiled at him, and Kane was left speechless. There was nothing he could say that wasn’t either a lie or would make him sound like the asshole he was.

“Anyway, I guess I should go to bed too.” She stood and Kane stood with her.

“I’ll come and stoke your fire,” he said, and it took him a moment to realise why Abby had a such a huge grin on her face. “So to speak,” he added.

“You’re funny,” she said, and followed him up the stairs.

Kane added more logs to the fire, stood poking it to make sure it caught properly. “That should stay warm until you fall asleep,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Abby. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome.” Kane stood with one hand on the door handle. “Night, Abby.”

“Night,” she said.

He closed the door behind him, used the bathroom, then went to his own room. The fire had dried the sheets, and they didn’t smell too bad now that the damp had evaporated from them. He changed into grey sweatpants and a thin black sweater - it was too cold for his usual t-shirt and boxers – and got into bed. The sheets were chilly, though, and he shivered, pulling the quilt up over him. He didn’t feel tired, so he picked up his book again.

He'd been reading maybe half an hour when there was a knock at his door.

“Yes?”

It was Abby. “Are you awake?” she said.

Kane smiled at the redundancy of her question, contemplated a sarcastic reply but decided against it. “I am, yes.”

“Can I come in?”

What was this about? Kane sat up straighter in the bed, smoothed down the cover. He didn’t know what to think. This was an unprecedented situation.

“Of course,” he said.

The door creaked open and Abby entered. She was wearing blue flannel pyjamas with grey stars on them. Her hair was mussed up on one side where she must have been lying, and his heart leapt at the sight of her.

“Sorry to disturb you,” she said.

“That’s okay. Are you alright?”

“Yes. I just couldn’t sleep, and I saw your light was on. It’s too quiet.” She sat on the end of Kane’s bed, tucked her sock-clad feet beneath her. The fire was waning in the grate and she was cast in a soft orange light that made her eyes sparkle.

“It usually takes me a while to adjust to the silence. It’s hard to sleep without sirens and car horns and drunk people.”

“Yes,” she said, and she laughed softly. “What are you reading?”

Kane picked up the book, showed her the cover.

“The Road, by Cormac McCarthy,” said Abby, reading the title. “What’s it about?”

“A good question,” said Kane. “It’s set post-Apocalypse, and it’s about a man and his son, and their quest to survive.”

“Sounds like fun bedtime reading,” said Abby, pulling a face.

“I have a feeling it doesn’t end well.”

“Those kinds of stories never do.” She shivered, pulled her pyjama top tighter.

“You’re cold,” said Kane.

“I’m okay.”

“Put the quilt around you.” He lifted the edge of it, offered it to her.

“Then you’ll be cold.”

“Get under it, then,” he said, his heart racing as he said the words.

Her mouth opened slightly as she took a breath. “You don’t mind?”

“No.”

“Okay.” She crawled across the bed, slid beneath the quilt, but on top of the sheet that was covering Kane.

She lay on her side, turned towards him. “I don’t know why you don’t like this house. It’s beautiful.”

“It felt like a prison when I was growing up. I thought I was too big for it, too important. I was meant for greater things.”

“You have done great things.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I wanted to escape as well,” she said with a sigh. “I wanted to escape all the wealth. I was disgusted by it, wanted to make my own way without my parents’ name behind me.”

“That’s hard to do.”

“Yes. Being a prosecutor was my way of rebelling against my upbringing.” She laughed. “We had opposite journeys!”

“And yet here we are.”

“Yes, here we are.” She smiled warmly at him, then sighed. “I should go, let you get your rest.”

“Okay, if you want,” said Kane, trying to let her know she didn’t have to if she didn’t want to, although what he would do if she decided to stay he didn’t know.

“I better had. It was just, you know, a strange house. I felt a bit, I don’t know... and the quiet.”

“I know,” said Kane.

“Okay.” She sat up in the bed, looked across at him. “Night, Marcus,” she said, saying his name for the first time, causing his pulse to pick up again.

“Night, Abby.”

He watched as she padded across to the door. She looked back at him before she closed it, smiled, and then she was gone. Kane put his book on the bedside table. He wasn’t sure what that had been about. What did she want from him? What did she need? Comfort? Friendship? Something more than lawyer-client, but what exactly?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane and Abby help out at the apple festival, and under a starry sky, some truths are revealed

Abby rose early the next day. She’d slept well in the end, but sunlight streaming through the thin curtains had woken her and it was too cold to lie in bed. She poked at the remains of the fire but nothing happened, and she knew she had no hope of getting it lit as she didn’t even know where to start. She pulled a sweater over her pyjama top and went downstairs.

Marcus was standing in front of the fire in grey jogging pants and a black sweater. He was poking it, making sparks fly and the logs crackle.

“Morning,” said Abby as she entered the room. He turned and smiled.

“Morning. You’re up early. Couldn’t you sleep?”

“I had a great sleep, but the sunlight woke me, and I figured I might as well get up and enjoy the day. Do you want some coffee?” Abby went to the stove, picked up the kettle to fill it with water like she’d observed Marcus do yesterday.

“When I get back. I’m going to feed the animals first.”

“Oh, that sounds fun. I’ll come with you,” said Abby.

“You’re not dressed,” said Marcus, looking her up and down.

“I’ll put my boots on over these. It will be fine.” Abby walked towards the door before he could object.

Her boots stood next to his in the porch and she pulled them over her pyjamas together with her new jacket, waiting for Marcus to do the same. He picked up a pail full of scrap food and they headed out into the crisp Fall air. There’d been a frost overnight, and the grass was white and crunchy beneath their feet. Their breaths mingled in the air as they walked side by side.

“You weren’t too cold last night?” said Marcus as they headed towards the barn.

“I was at first, and then I put on pretty much every item of clothing I’ve brought and it was fine.”

Marcus laughed. “Yes, another thing that takes some getting used to. I’ve tried to get mom to get a proper heating system installed but she refuses, says there’s no point heating an entire house for one person. I’ve explained that you can isolate the heat into the rooms you use the most, but she won’t have it.”

“She’s used to it, I guess.”

“Yeah, but she’s pushing seventy.” Marcus leant hard on the barn door and it creaked open.

“She’s tough, like you.” She saw his lips curve into a smile as he slipped through the gap into the barn. Abby followed him in. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the weatherboard, and they kicked up straw and dust that danced in the light as they walked through the building. The barn was filled with fascinating stuff. Huge old wheels with thin tyres and rusted spokes, tools with long thin, curved blades that looked like something Death would carry, logs, straw bales, parts of tools, something that looked like the remains of a cart, scrap wood, car tyres.

“This must have been a fun place to grow up,” said Abby.

“If I’d been born here, maybe it would, but I was ten when we moved here, and I guess I resented my parents for uprooting me, and the farm represented my unhappiness.”

“I can see why a young boy would feel like that. It’s a huge change from the city.”

“As you’re finding out,” said Marcus.

Two chickens squawked and half flew, half ran past them, flapping their wings. Abby wasn’t sure they were the ones from yesterday, but they looked the same.

“Here we are,” said Marcus. He handed Abby the pail with the scraps and lifted a tarpaulin to reveal an old green wheelbarrow, smaller straw bales, and plastic tubs. He scooped grain from the tubs into another pail and put it in the barrow along with the straw. He wheeled the barrow back out into the cold air. The chickens clucked behind them as they walked to a field Abby hadn’t seen yesterday.

Marcus opened an old wooden gate and went through into the field. Two sheep and two small pigs trotted towards them.

“You can put half the scraps in that trough there for the pigs,” he said, pointing to an old metal bath sunk into the ground.

The pigs pushed each other as they tried to get to the trough. One of them nosed between Abby’s legs, nearly unbalancing her. “Hey!” she said. “Don’t be hasty.”

Marcus looked up from shredding the hay into another trough for the sheep. “They would kill you and eat you if they got a chance,” he said, grinning.

“Lovely!” said Abby, and she stepped back carefully and watched the pigs as they snuffled in the trough.

“Chickens next,” said Marcus, “and then we’ll say hello to Flora.”

Abby followed behind him swinging her pail. “If anyone had said I’d one day be feeding pigs and chickens with the great Marcus Kane I would not have believed it.”

“I never thought I’d see the day the refined and sophisticated Abigail Griffin would walk through my yard in her pyjamas!” replied Marcus, as he strode ahead, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled to himself.

“I’m glad I amuse you,” said Abby, cheerfully.

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Even dressed like that you’re the most beautiful thing this farm has ever seen,” he said, and he stopped by a large patch of dirt, put his hand in the pail and scattered grain over it. The chickens that had been following them squawked with delight, and more appeared as if out of nowhere.

Abby stood and watched, Marcus’s words playing over and over in her mind. Did he throw these zingers out unconsciously, or was he acutely aware of everything he did and said? He wasn’t even looking to see her reaction, so perhaps it was the former, although the Marcus Kane she thought she knew never did anything by chance. The more she thought she was getting to know him, the more confused about him she became.

He moved off again back towards the barn. “You can wake Flora up while I put these away,” he said. “She can have the rest of the scraps and another apple.”

“Okay,” said Abby, and she fed and talked to the pig while she waited for him.

Later, back at the farmhouse, Abby made coffee while Marcus scrambled eggs and fried bacon. Vera came down and they ate the simple breakfast together.

“This bacon is lovely,” said Abby as she crunched on the smoky meat.

“Free to range, it’s the only way,” said Vera.

A terrible thought came to Abby at her words. “Oh, it’s not from one of your pigs, is it?”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” said Marcus.

Abby looked down at what remained of her slice. It was ridiculous to feel bad about it, because she had no qualms about eating meat normally. It was just that she’d seen their faces, their eagerness, their joy at the food she’d put out for them.

She saw Marcus share an amused look with his mother, tried to get up the will to finish the meal so she wouldn’t look like the city girl she was.

“Don’t let its sacrifice go to waste,” said Marcus.

“OK, that does it,” said Abby, and she pushed the bacon to the side of her plate. Marcus leaned across, pronged it with his fork and put it on his own plate. It was half eaten by Abby but he didn’t seem to care.

“Lovely,” he said, chewing in an exaggerated fashion.

“She was old, Abby dear,” said Vera. “She had a good life.”

“Don’t... I...” Abby looked from Vera to Marcus. “You’re not going to do this to Flora one day are you?” she said, shocked at the sudden thought.

“Oh, no. She’s family,” said Vera.

“She loves that pig more than me,” said Marcus to Abby.

“I do not, Marcus! Don’t be silly.”

Marcus looked at Abby, mouthed “she does,” and Abby tried not to smile because Vera was looking at her.

\---

Their pitch for the apple festival was on the main drag of The Commons, at the nice end, where the shops were painted in pastel blues and pinks. Kane set up the stall with Abby’s help while his mom arranged the trays of apples and the bottles of apple cider next to her home-grown vegetables. It was years since he’d been to the festival, or to any event in his home town. When he visited his mother, he tended to stay at the farm or drive out to the various beauty spots so he could walk and contemplate. He came for peace and quiet, not people. He had enough of them usually in his day job.

“This is such a pretty town,” said Abby as she attached signs to the front of the stall.

“Yes, it is.” That was one thing Kane couldn’t deny. It was attractive, small compared to New York of course; no skyscrapers here. Surrounded by woods and lakes and rivers and waterfalls. If you liked nature, you would like Ithaca.

“And of course you went to Cornell, which is a great school.”

“Its not Harvard Law, but it was good, yes.”

“Did you live on campus?”

“Erm, no. I stayed at home.”

“Really?” Abby looked up at him with surprise. “That must have cramped your style. I was certain you were a frat boy.”

Kane busied himself fastening bunting to the top of the gazebo. “I was on a scholarship actually,” he said, not looking at Abby, “so I couldn’t afford to live on campus.”

“I... I didn’t realise that. Wow, you really have worked hard to get where you are.”

“Yes,” said Kane, who was proud of his hard work but not proud of his humble beginnings, so didn’t talk about it to anyone except Sinclair, who he’d known since his time at Cornell, and who was the only other scholarship boy at the school.

“Marcus was top of his class always,” said Vera. “He used to be up at the crack of dawn helping with the animals and he’d go to school all day and then come home and help me again before doing his college work. His father died, you see, and I had the legal aid practice still back then, as well as the farm. He’s always been a good boy.”

“Thanks, mom,” said Kane in a tone that was designed to make her stop talking.

“What was he like as a child?” said Abby.

“Oh, come on!” said Kane. “That’s not fair.”

“Considering you know practically everything about me thanks to my situation, it’s only fair I should know things about you,” she said, arranging the herbs smugly.

“Marcus, you were a lovely boy,” said Vera, clearly now on a roll. “He was very handsome, Abby, but awkward, you know. His legs grew before anything else and I always thought he was like a baby deer; you know how they look when they’re first trying to stand?”

“Jesus Christ, mom!” said Kane, mortified at her description of him. “You’re talking about when I was eight or something.”

“You were like that until you were fourteen and then the rest of your body caught up with your legs,” she said.

Kane couldn’t even look at Abby, but he could see her shoulders heaving as she laughed. “This is a ridiculous conversation,” he huffed.

“It’s the truth,” said Vera, and Kane heard Abby actually snort she was laughing so much.

“If you call me Bambi, we’re through,” said Kane, fixing her with a stern gaze. “You can find another lawyer. In fact, don’t even think it!”

“I wasn’t until you put the thought in my head!”

“I knew it was a mistake bringing you here,” he mumbled.

“How is it a mistake that I find out you come from a warm, loving home and you worked hard for everything you have? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Hmm,” said Kane grumpily.

“It makes me respect you more than I ever did.”

“You didn’t respect me at all before!”

“No, well then this is an improvement in our relationship.” She smirked, and Kane managed a smile.

He knew he was being too sensitive, making the whole thing worse. If he just smiled and laughed it off then it would all be over and Abby wouldn’t be having to comfort him like he was a kid who’d lost his popsicle. He’d spent so long cultivating an image of himself, not just for her but for everyone in New York. A day here and it was all crumbling. He was only going to be the farm boy to her from now on.

The musicians struck up a tune, and the street entertainers started their various acts up and down the strip, and customers started to arrive, taking Kane’s mind off his past and his embarrassment.

“Do you mind if I have a look around some of the other stalls?” said Abby, after they’d been serving for a couple of hours.

“Of course not. Take as much time as you want. You don’t have to hang around with us at all if you don’t want to.”

“I only want to stretch my legs, have a walk around. I won’t be long.” She picked up her bag and left.

Vera sidled over to Kane. “She’s a lovely girl,” she said.

“Yes,” said Kane, watching Abby as she browsed the stalls.

“I can’t believe she’s been accused of murdering that boy. The papers are saying he was her boyfriend.”

“He wasn’t her boyfriend, and she didn’t kill him.”

“It doesn’t look good, Marcus. I’ve read all about it.”

“You’ve read what the gossip papers say,” said Kane. “They don’t know the truth.”

“It’s not always the truth that wins, though, is it?”

“No. That’s one thing I learned from you.”

“Our clients were always the most hard done by in society. Everyone was prejudiced against them, judges, juries, the police. The truth was often irrelevant.”

Kane put his arm around his mother, surprising her because she squinted up at him with her failing blue eyes. “You and dad did important work,” he said.

Her eyes widened with shock, and then a broad smile transformed her face. “Thank you, Marcus.”

“I was never as supportive of you as I could have been.”

“You supported me more than you knew, just by helping out the way you did.”

“I wasn’t pleasant to be around though, most of the time.”

“You were a growing boy, and this place was never going to be able to contain you.”

“Still. I should have been a better son.” He pulled his mother towards him, pressed a kiss to her head. “I’m going to come up in the summer and spend a week or two, fix up the house.”

“That would be wonderful!”

Vera had a smile on her face as she served customers, and Kane felt good. He’d lived a very self-centred life he was starting to realise, caring little for other people, especially the ones who loved him despite the way he treated them.

Abby returned with a small cardboard box in one hand and a bulging paper bag in the other. “I’m going to be borrowing your kitchen again, Marcus,” she said. “I’ve been sampling everything and there’s some amazing stuff. This goat’s cheese is to die for.” She opened the bag so Kane could peer inside at her treasures.

“Smells amazing. You know you’re welcome anytime.” For some reason his heart ached at the simple joy on her face. She was happy, but it was going to be short-lived, because they had to go back tomorrow, to all the problems that caused her to come up here with him in the first place. Nothing had changed, and it was likely to get worse before it got better.

Abby nodded, oblivious to Kane’s turmoil. “I also found these. They’re fantastic. I got one for each of us.” She handed Kane and Vera a small caramelised apple tart.

Kane took a bite. “It’s good,” he said, “but not as good as your pear tarte tatin.”

“Oh, really?” said Abby, beaming.

Kane was on form today, he thought, making the women in his life happy. What had got into him? It was the crispness of the Fall day, which always filled him with a sense of hope, even though it meant the coming of winter, or the smells of baked apples, or the sound of guitars and musical voices, or Abby.

Vera spotted a friend across the way and went to speak to her. Kane and Abby were left staffing the stall. Someone vaguely familiar approached, but Kane couldn’t place him.

“If it isn’t Rainbow Kane,” the man said, and Kane realised who it was. One of his old college classmates, who’d been an asshole back then and clearly still was.

He sighed deeply. “Dear, God, man. We’re forty. Give it up.”

“Never. I’m Paxton, but my friends call me Graveyard,” he said to Abby, leaning towards her. Kane clenched his fists.

“Abby,” said Abby, an obviously fake smile on her face. She didn’t ask Paxton for any further information on his nickname, which clearly irked him.

“Nice.” He leered at her, before turning to Kane. “What have you been up to? Been a while since I’ve seen you. Didn’t realise you were living here.”

“I don’t live here,” said Kane. “I’ve got my own firm in New York with Sinclair and another guy.”

“Really? Scholarship boys did good, eh? Much call for agricultural law in the city is there?”

“I did Criminal Law as you well know.”

“What do you do, Paxton?” said Abby.

“Oh, I have my fingers in a lot of pies, sweetheart,” he said, winking at Abby.

Kane felt his lip curl into the beginnings of a snarl. He clenched his fists tighter. He’d always longed to punch Paxton’s lights out when they were undergraduates but didn’t dare for fear of being kicked out of school. There was no danger of that happening now. Nothing to stop him. If he so much as moved a muscle towards Abby, he was going to deck him.

“Jack of all trades, are you?” said Abby, leaving the second part of that well-known phrase unsaid.

Paxton sniffed. “Finally convinced someone to take you on, have you, Rainbow?”

Kane felt Abby’s arm slide around his waist, and he was pulled towards her. “He has,” she said smiling smugly at Paxton, and then she reached up and kissed Kane’s cheek with soft, cold lips. He willed himself to remain unaffected, and put his arm around her shoulder, his fingers curling into the softness of her jacket. They stood together, looking at Paxton.

“We’re very happy,” said Kane.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” Paxton said, and Kane wasn’t sure if he was referring to having Abby, his firm, or both.

“You didn’t have to do that,” said Kane when Paxton had gone.

“I know, but that guy was an asshole, and he called me sweetheart. I hate that!”

“I’ll remember that,” said Kane. “Do I get spousal privileges later, sweetheart,” he whispered into her ear.

Abby pushed him away playfully. “You idiot,” she said. “Why does he call you Rainbow?”

“Cause of my mom and her hippy commune friends. It was my name throughout college.”

“Rainbow!” said Abby, snorting. “You’re clearly more of a raincloud.”

“Fuck!” said Kane laughing. “You’ll pay for that!” He pulled her to him, pretended to give her a noogie, grabbed hold of her nose instead.

“Why you always goin for by dose?” she said, laughing.

“It’s your most prominent feature.”

“It is not!” She wriggled out from his grasp, hit him on the arm.

“So violent,” said Kane.

“Says you.”

“I want a divorce.”

“Gladly,” she said, grinning. She arranged the few items they had left on the stall, still smiling.

Kane spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of what he could only describe as contentment. The sky was blue, the street trees were glorious, their leaves opalescent, and quivering in the light breeze. Abby and his mom were chatting to all their customers, and all Kane had to do was hand over their purchases with not exactly a smile, but something bordering on one. Better than his usual grunt, at any rate. They were sold out of apples and apple cider and nearly all the vegetables. It had been the perfect day.

\---

Having been banished from the kitchen by Vera and Marcus while they cleared up after their simple supper, Abby sat outside at a peeling wooden picnic table that sloped to one side on uneven legs. Everything on the farm was like this, functional, but off kilter, old, fading. It was quaint to her eyes, but she could see why Marcus worried about his mother in her older years. She’d have thought a man as formidable as Marcus would have ridden roughshod over his mother’s wishes and fixed the place up regardless, but Vera was tough as old boots, and was possibly the one person on the planet who was a match for her headstrong son.

It was cold, and there was no moon. The stars were pinpricks in the sky, tiny holes in the black velvet of the universe as the evening darkened. She zipped up her coat to the top, pulled the knitted bobble hat Vera had given her lower so it covered her ears. She should go inside, but it was so beautiful and peaceful. There was never a chance for sitting like this in New York, not even on her terrace. It was never quiet, never truly dark.

This weekend had been a revelation in so many ways. She hadn’t expected it to be as wonderful and interesting as it had. She hadn’t expected Marcus to open up in the small ways that he had, his embarrassment notwithstanding. He was a proud man but seemed to be ashamed of the things he should be most proud of, his parents, his background, his hard work and determination. It was an elite world they moved in, one that had unwritten rules about who you should be and where you should come from. Marcus hadn’t fitted into that, but he had forced his way in, and made a place for himself. Abby had nonchalantly turned her back on what he had worked so hard for. It was humbling.

She looked around at what little she could see of the farm in the fading light. She could stay here forever, living a peaceful, unthreatened existence, but her real life beckoned, what was left of it. She didn’t want to go back, and she was annoyed with herself, because she was someone who always faced her problems, tackled them head on, but she’d never come up against something like this before. She felt helpless, and she hated it.

In the distance, she heard the porch door creak open and bang shut and knew either Vera or Marcus had come outside to look for her. Marcus probably. Vera would be beside the fire now, knitting another hat to replace the one Abby was wearing. Footsteps grew closer and she heard his short breaths as he climbed the slight rise to the picnic table. She turned to look at him.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi. I brought you some hot apple cider.” Marcus put a large steaming mug on the table in front of Abby. He was holding another one. “May I join you?”

“Of course.”

Abby shuffled up on the bench and Marcus sat next to her. He was almost at eye level with her because his side of the bench was lower, and it evened the height difference between them. She didn’t have to look up at him as much as usual.

“Are you okay?” he said, which seemed to be his mantra with Abby these days. He asked it every time he saw her.

“I’m enjoying the peace and quiet.”

“And I’ve disturbed you.”

“No, not at all.” She put her gloved hand on top of his briefly to reassure him.

“I had forgotten how beautiful it is here,” Marcus said. He put his hands around his mug, brought it to his lips and took a sip. “And how good this is. Have you tried it yet?”

“No.” Abby picked up her mug and took a tentative sip. Her body was infused with warm spices. “It’s lovely.” She took another sip, sighed happily.

“My mom knows what she’s doing.”

“She does.”

They sat in a companionable silence for a while, sipping their cider, watching the sky. The stars were starting to fill in the black now, and there was colour. Purples and blues and reds and yellows staining the dark.

“It’s so beautiful,” said Abby.

“Yes,” replied Marcus, looking at her.

“It must get so cold here in winter.”

“We’re only a hundred miles or so from the Canadian border.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It gets pretty cold. We were snowed in a lot when I was a kid. We had a snowmobile, so that was cool. I did enjoy that.” He smiled at the memory.

“I’ve never been to Canada,” said Abby. “Our family always went somewhere warm for vacations, and I’ve followed that tradition in my adult years, not that I’ve had a vacation in a while.

“We could be in Toronto in about the time it takes to drive to New York.”

“That would be nice,” said Abby.

“Mmm,” said Marcus. “I’m coming back again in the summer, all being well. Spend some time fixing up the house.”

“All being well. You mean if my trial is over by then.”

Marcus sighed heavily. “It won’t get to that.”

“You don’t know that.” Abby was annoyed with herself for bringing this up and letting it into their day, but it couldn’t be ignored, or truly forgotten. It was always there, an undercurrent beneath the still surface water.

“I trust myself,” said Marcus. “I trust us.”

Abby took his hand again, squeezed it. Marcus hooked his thumb around her finger. They sat like that in silence for a while.

“I saw that Rafael’s body has been released to his family,” said Abby, finally voicing something that had been in the back of her mind since the morning they’d left.

“Where did you see that?”

“In a news article online.”

“I thought I told you not to read anything about the case.”

“I wasn’t looking for it. I just saw it. I feel like I’ve forgotten him in all this really. He died after all.”

“You cared for him,” said Marcus in a soft voice.

“At first. He was kind and funny and I was... well it was a night when I was feeling vulnerable, and...” she shrugged. She wanted to talk about this and at the same time she didn’t. If Marcus pushed her...

“Why were you feeling vulnerable?” he said, his hand clasping tighter to hers.

“You’ll probably know this if you’ve been doing your research on me, but I’ve been on my own a long time. I mean, I’ve dated, I’ve had a few short-term relationships, but nothing meaningful, not since Jake died.”

“I haven’t delved much into your past yet. Just the last couple of years.”

“Oh.” Abby was surprised, had been certain Marcus knew everything there was to know about her.

“My team will get to it, but it hasn’t been my priority,” he said in response to her questioning look.

“I see. Well, Jake was my college sweetheart, my first proper boyfriend. He died of cancer a couple of years after we left Harvard. It took me a long time to get over it.”

“I’m sorry,” said Marcus. “That must have been so hard.”

“Yeah. I never really had the energy for a big relationship after that. I tried, but... I don’t know. My mom says I’m too picky, that I’m always looking for the same things I had with Jake. She says I’ll never find anyone at my age who I’m everything to, or who is everything to me.” She didn’t look at Marcus, because she didn’t want to see whatever expression he had on his face, in case it was pity or sorrow or something equally as pathetic.

“Did you think you’d found that in Rafael?” he said quietly.

“Oh, no. No. We were out that night, celebrating a big win, not against you,” she added smiling briefly at him.

“You’ve never beaten me.”

“Not yet.” She heard his soft laugh in response. “We were out, and it was the anniversary of Jake’s death, and I was happy because of the win but also sad, and vulnerable. I was out on the terrace of this hotel, and Rafael was there, and he was attentive. I was a bit drunk, and somehow we kissed, and it was nice, it was sweet. He asked me the next day to go and see a movie with him and I thought why not? Why not, Abby? Maybe it’s time. I know he was young, but that didn’t matter. He was kind and thoughtful and seemed happy to take his time. It was romantic, or so I thought.”

“And then he changed.”

“Yes. He was too attentive, wanting to know what I was doing, where I was, trying to push me to have sex with him. I didn’t want to rush into that, and I’m not someone who can be browbeaten into anything.”

“I know that,” said Marcus, and he was smiling when she looked at him.

“You do. Anyway, that’s how it happened. It was a mistake, in more ways than one.”

“It’s not a mistake to take a chance on someone,” said Marcus.

“I don’t know. Maybe I should take a leaf out of your book, play the field.” She grinned at him, but he didn’t smile back, he wasn’t even looking at her, but staring out into the darkness. “I... I didn’t mean that as a criticism,” she said, worrying suddenly that he’d taken offence at her comment, which had been crass, as she knew nothing about his love life, only the rumours.

“I know that.” He sighed. “I’m more like you than you think.”

“What do you mean?” said Abby, curious now. Her heartrate picked up. Was he going to open up, reveal something personal to her?

“I’ve been on my own a long time too.”

“You’ve dated a lot, though. You always have women draped all over you.”

“Not really. I can count on one hand the number of even half successful dates I’ve had in the last year.”

Abby tried to keep her face neutral, although she was privately wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “I thought you were a playboy. That’s your reputation.”

“When I was younger I can’t deny I fooled around a lot, but these last few years I’ve wanted more.”

Abby was astonished. True, she hadn’t seen him with any woman over the last month or so, but he was always working when she was with him. She’d assumed he went out, dated all the time. “These women you’re with, like the one in the Whiskey Tavern. What are they?”

“They’re not what I want. I don’t take them home with me or go back to their place.”

“You don’t deny the rumours, though.”

“They’re good for business. It’s an image I’ve cultivated I suppose, based in reality, or a past reality, but it’s not who I am now.”

“Gosh,” said Abby. “Sorry, it’s just I’m really surprised.”

“You had no reason to think otherwise. Like you said, I don’t discourage the rumours.”

“What do you want, then, if it’s not these women?”

Marcus took a slow sip of his cider. “Someone who’s a match for me, I suppose. Someone who’s clever and quick-witted, fun to be around. Someone I want to spend my time with.”

They were still holding hands and Abby’s stomach did a flip at his words. She should have known this about him, really, because he was exacting, and he didn’t suffer fools. She’d thought him shallow, perhaps, interested only in looks, someone who would be attractive to have on his arm. It was her who was shallow, not considering there was a complicated human being beneath the tailored suits and the well-groomed hair.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone like that,” she said lamely.

“It’s not just a case of finding her; it’s whether she feels the same.”

“I don’t see why she wouldn’t.”

Marcus gave a kind of huffy laugh. He sighed, then he took his hand from hers and stood. “And then there’s timing,” he said. “I’ve never been good at that.”

Abby picked up her mug and clambered out of the bench so she could follow him. He was striding quickly towards the house and she had to almost run to keep up with him. Was he embarrassed at what he’d admitted to her? He’d ended their conversation abruptly, so maybe he was. She caught up with him on the veranda, grabbed his arm to stop him going into the house.

“Marcus,” she said, and he turned, his eyes black in the half light. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

He nodded.

They stood as if frozen in time on the porch, her hand on his arm, his hand on the doorknob.

“Your mother’s wrong, you know,” he said at last. “You will be everything to someone one day.” He opened the door and went inside, leaving Abby to follow him, her heart in her mouth.

“I’m going to work upstairs in my room,” he announced to her and Vera in the parlour. “Night both.”

When Abby went to bed two hours later, his light was on but she didn’t knock on his door this time. She went into her room. The fire was roaring in the grate, and her quilt had been turned back to warm the sheets. He must have done that when he came upstairs. She dressed in her pyjamas, slipped beneath the covers.

Marcus found it hard to open up, that much was clear. He’d told her more than he’d wanted to perhaps, revealed his true self, and more than that, he’d revealed his heart. How he felt. Abby thought over the last couple of days, and longer, back to the night in his house, when he’d let her take over, indulged her, taken care of her when she was drunk. And today, at the festival, how playful he’d been, how soft he was with her, how tightly he’d gripped her shoulder when they were pretending to be more than what they were.

Oh, God! Her heart thumped against her chest. The woman he was looking for, who was fun to be with, who he wanted to spend his time with, who was a match for him. It was her.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after the bench conversation. Kane is having regrets, and Abby is in turmoil.

When Kane woke on Sunday morning he didn’t get up straight away. He lay in his cold bed beneath his blue and red patchwork quilt and thought about Abby and what he’d said to her last night. For some reason he couldn’t fathom now he’d told her things he’d never told anyone before, the truth about his life, his desires. He’d practically told her how he felt about her, but she clearly didn’t feel the same, telling him she was sure he’d find who he was looking for. He had found her, but as he’d feared, she didn’t feel the same. Why would she? He had a terrible reputation that he’d cultivated himself and he’d been nothing but mean to her, belittling her career and her talent. He didn’t deserve someone like Abby.

He sighed and pushed back the covers. Time to get up, face the day. He didn’t know whether to go straight back to New York after breakfast or take her to see the waterfalls as he’d originally planned. They were romantic places to some people, and it would be awkward if she’d realised who he was talking about when he’d described the woman he was looking for. You’re a goddamned idiot, Marcus. He also had to find a way to speak to his mother about Frank, which had been the whole purpose of this trip, but Abby had been with them all the time, and he wasn’t sure if it was something to bring up in front of her. He had no choice if he was to find out anything before he left.

No one else was up, which was surprising, but when he looked at his watch it was only six-thirty, and it was Sunday after all. He fed the animals, and then he got a ladder from the barn and leant it against the roof so he could clear off the leaf litter from last year and give the shingles a chance to dry out. He was lost in that task when the door opened, and his mother and Abby came out.

“What on earth are you doing, Marcus?” said Vera, standing with her hands on her hips.

“Practising my circus skills,” he said.

“Idiot boy!” she said affectionately. “You should have someone footing the ladder so it doesn’t fall.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Go and make breakfast.”

Vera tutted.

“I’ll do it,” said Abby, and she stood looking up at Kane. “What do I have to do?”

God, this was just what he didn’t need. “Just hold the sides and put your foot on the bottom rung.”

“Do I have to catch you if you fall?” she said, doing as he instructed.

“I won’t fall,” he replied, and then he turned away from her and back to his task of scooping out the smelly mud the leaves had turned to. He dropped it onto the grass below as he’d been doing before, forgetting Abby was there.

“Nearly!” she said.

“Nearly what?” he frowned down at her.

“You nearly got me.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

He returned to his task, careful to drop the mud further away from her.

“Are you alright?” she said after a couple of minutes of silent work.

“Of course.”

“You seem a little... tense.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not bothered about last night, are you?” she said, and Kane realised he was trapped up here, with her beneath him, easy prey for her interrogation.

“No.”

“Only, there’s no reason to, you know, feel anything bad, or... anything at all.”

“I don’t feel anything at all.” God he was an idiot. How did she do this to him?

“Oh, well that’s good then.”

“Yes. Can you pass me that scraper thing?” He pointed to a tool he needed, and she picked it up, handed it up the ladder to him.

“What are your plans for today?” she said, “other than going home, of course.”

“What do you want to do?” He dropped more mud onto the ground then scraped the gutters with the tool.

“Whatever you want to do.”

“Right.”

He’d finished scraping the roof, and there was no reason left to stay up here, so he started to climb down. She stepped back and he ended up standing right in front of her. She had on a soft grey sweater with her black jeans and those damned boots. She looked lovelier than ever. Damn her!

“I thought maybe we’d look at one of the waterfalls before we left. It is what the area is famous for after all. If that’s something you’d be interested in.”

She smiled, showing her perfect white teeth, her cheekbones becoming more prominent. He wanted to run his thumb over one, see if it would cut him, make him bleed. “I am interested. It sounds lovely.”

“We’ll do that, then.”

“Great.”

They went inside and Kane washed up before sitting down to the breakfast his mother had prepared. He was going to have to talk about Frank now, because they’d have to leave soon to fit in the waterfalls and the drive back.

“Frank was at my apartment the other week,” he said to Vera.

“Really? What did he want?”

“To watch the game and drink all my beer and whisky.”

“Who’s Frank?” said Abby, forking eggs and a slice of potato scone into her mouth. Kane was amused to see she didn’t have any bacon like he and Vera had.

“He’s my brother, dear. I haven’t heard from him in a while, Marcus. How is he?”

“He’s fine. Marie had kicked him out for trying to burn down the kitchen. Marie’s my aunt,” he said, for Abby’s benefit.

“He sounds a hoot!” she said.

“Hmm,” said Kane. “You won’t think that when he’s passed out on your bathroom floor with his...” he hesitated, forgetting who he was speaking to. “Never mind. He was talkative, actually.”

“He’s always talkative when he’s in the drink,” said Vera.

“He was telling me about his past, about his days with the garage.”

“Oh, that garage, yes. About the only thing he ever did well.”

“Yes. He said he did a lot of driving, for, erm, certain people.” He examined his mother’s face closely as he said this, looking for any kind of sign that his words meant something. Her fork paused briefly on its passage to her mouth.

“You don’t want to listen to what he says when he’s drunk,” she said.

“That’s what Marie said.”

“You talked to Marie?”

“Yes.”

Vera put down her fork, looked at Marcus. “What exactly did he say?”

Kane glanced at Abby, who had stopped eating and was following the conversation with interest. He didn’t want to mention Romano’s name in front of her. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her; he didn’t know what it all meant if anything, or whether there would end up being a connection to her and the mob guys she’d put away.

“He said he’d been a driver for some of the mob bosses back in the day, and that’s why you brought me up here, so we wouldn’t be involved.”

“That’s nonsense, Marcus.” Vera had put down her knife and fork and was frowning at her son.

“Is it? Because we sure seemed to uproot in a hurry.”

“The farm became available. It was a good opportunity.”

“And this was the only farm you wanted in the whole of Finger Lakes?”

“It suited us.”

“Come on, mom. It was all a long time ago. What harm is it going to do to tell me about it now.”

“It may be a long time ago, but people are still alive. They have long memories.”

“So there is something to it!”

“I’m not going to talk about this now, Marcus.”

“I can go,” said Abby. “Leave you two alone.”

“No, love. There’s no need for you to leave. There’s really nothing much to tell.” Vera sighed. “Yes, it’s true that Frank got involved with some shady people. It was just driving at first, but then he said they were trying to get him involved with other things. I don’t know what, before you ask. I didn’t want to know. There were some threats, people came around to our house because they knew he was my brother. I didn’t like it, and neither did your father. We had a friend up here, and they told us about the farm and we decided to move, to get away from it. We wanted you to grow up in a safe environment.”

Kane was stunned. A large part of him had expected her to dismiss his questions because they weren’t true. “How did Frank get out of it?”

“To be honest, son, I don’t know if he ever did.”

Kane looked at Abby, who was looking at him with the same look of shock.

“Wow!” she said.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want you looking into this, Marcus. You have to promise me. Those people are bad.”

“You haven’t heard of any of their names recently, have you?” he said, deciding to risk asking what he really wanted to know, whether she knew Luca Romano.

“No, of course not. We’ve never been bothered by any of them up here.”

“Okay,” said Kane, relieved. Romano mustn’t have known who he was, who his uncle was. It was all a coincidence.

“Promise me,” Vera said, looking at him poignantly.

Kane nodded, but didn’t speak, because he already had Sinclair on the task, and wasn’t going to take him off now, not when he’d had confirmation that his family had mob connections. It was too interesting a thread not to pull.

“We’d better get ready, because we need to be going soon,” he said, looking at Abby.

“I’m all packed. Do you mind if I go and visit the animals one last time?”

“You go and see them, love,” said Vera.

Kane stood with his mother at the window, drying the dishes she washed.

“She’s the one for you, Marcus,” Vera said as they watched Abby crossing the field towards the barn and Flora.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Kane, his heart skipping a beat at his mother’s words.

“I’m not! She’s beautiful, and clever, and kind. What more are you looking for?”

“She’s about to be on trial for murder.”

“So? You’re going to save her.”

“Abby’s not the kind of woman who needs or wants to be saved, mom.”

“We all need saving, Marcus. Even you.”

“She doesn’t think of me in that way.”

“She doesn’t? A woman drives all the way up here with you, spends most of her time with you, talks to your poor old mom, helps out on your farm, sits out under the stars with you, and you say she doesn’t think of you like that. Wake up, Marcus!”

“She came here for a break from her life, and she’s kind, like you said. You’re reading way too much into this, like you always do.”

“You can carry on deluding yourself although I don’t know why. Take a moment, see how she looks at you, how she laughs at your stupid jokes, is interested in your life. She cares for you, Marcus. I guarantee it.”

With that she folded her arms over her ample bosom, which signalled the end of the conversation. Kane stared out of the window as he wiped the last dish. Abby didn’t feel the same. She’d made that clear. Hadn’t she?

\---

Abby said goodbye to Vera and the farm with a heavy heart. She’d felt more at home in this crumbling old farmhouse, with Marcus’s big-hearted mother than she had anywhere in a long time. More so even than at her own mother’s home, which seemed cold and clinical in comparison.

They were in the Jeep now, heading to Buttermilk Falls State Park. Marcus seemed happier than he had been earlier. He’d been grumpy, trying to pretend that he hadn’t said anything of significance the night before. Typical guy; typical Marcus. It was as though he thought it was weak to be open, to be honest, to have feelings, desires, want someone, need them.

If he did have feelings for her, and if he knew she suspected, as she did, then she supposed it would be awkward for him. She hadn’t fallen into his arms, told him he was the man for her, and so they were left in a no man’s land of half knowing, half wondering, of unrequited feelings, of playing one’s hand, and it not being picked up. It was no surprise he’d decided to pretend none of it had happened. Maybe that was for the best.

She liked him, she couldn’t deny that, more than she’d ever thought she would, and he was surprisingly fun to be around, playful, jokey, attentive without being smothering, warmer than you’d think, more caring. When he said the things he said, how she was clever, beautiful, big-hearted, his Lauren Bacall, it made her heart race, and she felt good. Was it just because they were nice things to be told, and she was starving for affection of any kind, especially in her current situation where she felt so alone, or was it because it was him saying them?

When he touched her, when his arm was around her, or he curled his fingers around hers, she grew warm, and she felt safe, comforted. She wanted his touch, sought it out. She’d got in bed with him for Christ’s sake! Oh, what was she doing! What was happening here? There was no way this was going to end well.

They pulled into the parking lot for the falls, and Marcus got out.

“Are you in any rush to get back?” he said as Abby closed the car door behind her.

“Can’t say I am,” said Abby, who didn’t want to go back at all.

“Then we can do the gorge trail, take in a couple of the falls if you want.”

“Why not.”

They hiked the trail to the Buttermilk Falls mainly in a comfortable silence. Abby told herself to enjoy the last of this trip, make the most of the peace, put her life in New York out of her mind just for a few hours. The roaring waters of the creek were a constant soundtrack to their walk, the changing colours of the trees their backdrop. It was beautiful. Uplifting.

They made it to the main falls, and Abby was gratified to see there were only a couple of other people there. They sat on a rock facing the falls, and she watched as the water cascaded down, frothing in the hollowed-out pools, turning them milky white.

“They’re living up to their name today,” said Marcus.

“It’s stunning. Have you been here often?”

“All the time when I was at college. I’d bring my books here in the summer, do my studying.”

“What about girls?”

“A few girls,” he said, glancing almost shyly at her.

“Did you skinny dip?”

“In some of the more sheltered pools, yes. It’s a bit cold for that today, though.”

“Shame,” said Abby, before she could stop herself.

“The cold water wouldn’t make me look good,” he said with a smirk.

They sat shoulder to shoulder on the rock. Abby closed her eyes, listened to the music of the waterfall as it bounced off the rocks, splashed into the pools.

“I don’t want to go back,” she whispered.

She felt Marcus brush a lock of her hair from her eyes. “It will be alright. I’m not going to let you down,” he murmured.

She looked at him without speaking, and then she leaned into him, rested her head against his shoulder. He put his arm around her, and they sat like that, watching the water.

“Thank you for this weekend,” Abby said after a while. “I’ve really enjoyed it.”

“So have I. It was more fun than I imagined it would be.”

Abby laughed softly. “You’re a good man,” she said, and she lifted her head so she could see him, reached up and stroked his cheek with her thumb. She heard his breathing change, become faster, shallower.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he said. He took her hand, kissed the palm. “Let’s go home,” he said, and he stood, dragging Abby up with him. They stood facing each other, and his eyes roamed her face, lingered on her lips, and she thought he was going to lean in, kiss her, and her breath hitched in her throat, and then he smiled, turned and headed back down the trail towards their car. Abby followed, trying to get her racing pulse under control. 

\---

Back in the city, and the lights were twinkling. It was comforting to be back, but not the same. Last night Kane had sat beneath the stars with Abby, and now they were back to the artificial light, the falsity in many ways, of this human construction of a city.

He pulled up outside her hotel, and they sat in the car. She didn’t make a move to get out, and Kane didn’t either.

“I think I might move back home,” she said, surprising him.

“Why?”

“The journalists will have gone by now, and I can’t live in a hotel forever. I have to start living my life, such as it is.”

“You are living your life,” said Kane, undone by the thought of her not being close to him anymore.

“No, I’m in an inbetween world, like purgatory. I need to create a new normal.”

She was right, but it didn’t make him feel good. They’d just spent three days together, and now she was going to be distant.

“Of course, yes. I just... I want you to be safe.”

“I will be safe. I’ll be in my home.”

Kane nodded, because what else could he do. “Are you still going to make me this goat’s cheese whatever it was, though? You can’t tempt a man with that and then not deliver.”

She grinned. “I will make it for you, but you can come to my house, see how we do things in the Village.”

“Okay,” said Kane.

“Tuesday night. Seven o’clock. You know where I am.”

“I do, yes.”

“I’ll see you then.” She leaned across, pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, and then she got out, grabbed her bag from the back seat and was gone.

Kane sat in his Jeep, watching the hotel door as it swung back and forth. He’d fallen in love with her, and that was that. All these years looking for someone he didn’t think existed, and it had happened easily in the end, like sliding into a warm bath. He had to put a hold on his feelings, though, because the most important thing was to defend her, and he couldn’t do that if he was thinking about her like he was. He put the car into drive, headed towards his garage. What a weekend it had turned out to be.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's back to reality and there's a break in the case for Kane and Abby as they try to create a new normal.

October turned to November and the days grew colder and shorter. Kane went to work with the lights of Broadway illuminating his way and came home late at night in the same manner. He was sitting in his office early one evening, staring out at the street below, when the door opened.

“I’ve got news,” Harper said, and Kane swivelled in his chair to look at her.

“What?”

“The police have finished with the evidence, and we can take a look at it.”

“Finally!” said Kane, pleased to have some good news at last. His investigations into Abby’s case had been frustrated the last few weeks by the lack of cooperation from the police. They’d refused to investigate Abby’s text stalker, who had grown bolder with every foul message. That idiot Murphy had gone so far as to suggest she was sending them to herself, or Kane was, to create doubt as to her guilt. Kane knew he was capable of a lot of things when it came to his clients, but he drew the line at falsifying evidence. Not even for Abby.

“I’ll set up an appointment for you tomorrow.”

“Good. Call Monty Green from Green’s Forensic Analysis, have him come with me.”

“Will do. We’ve also had a date for the pre-trial hearing.”

“Oh? When is it?”

“January twentieth.”

“That’s ages away!”

“Christmas is in the way I guess.”

“I guess. Okay, thanks, Harper.”

Harper left and Kane picked up the phone, punched in Abby’s number.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said when she answered, even though she would know it was him from his number; it had become their ritual.

“Hey, you,” she said, a warm smile in her voice.

Kane smiled himself when he heard it. They’d seen a lot of each other since they’d returned from Ithaca, more than he’d thought they would when she moved back to her townhouse and started working at the Legal Aid clinic in earnest. His car service bill had skyrocketed with the amount of toing and froing he’d been doing. He’d kept himself professional, business-like as much as possible without being cold, or so he hoped. She cooked him dinner once a week in return for doing most of the travelling, and they talked about a lot of things, anything in fact, except how they felt about each other. It was for the best.

“I heard today we’ve got a date for the pre-trial hearing,” he said, figuring he’d get the worst news over with first.

“When is it?”

“January twentieth.”

“Jeez, that’s a long time to wait.”

“Christmas, you know. Anyway, it gives us time to deal with my second piece of news.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“We’ve finally got access to the evidence,” he said.

“Oh, wow. That’s great.”

“Yeah. I’m going to look at it tomorrow with my forensics expert.”

“I’ll come with you,” she said, excitement in her voice.

“You can’t. We would be compromised.”

Her sigh was loud in his ear. She was finding it hard being excluded from so many things that affected her life; things she could bring her skills and experience to. Kane could empathise, because if he were in her shoes he would have gone crazy by now, especially being dictated to by someone like him. Abby was coping well in the circumstances.

“I’ll come to your place afterwards, discuss it with you. You can set your brain on it then,” he said to placate her.

“Okay. Yes, I suppose. I’ve got my first court hearing with my legal aid client, Bellamy Blake, at four, and there’ll be some work to do following that, but I should be home by seven at the latest.”

“I’ll see you then. We’ll get takeout.”

“Okay. Chinese this time.”

“I’ll pick something up.”

He sat back in his chair after he’d ended the call, a frisson of excitement running through him. He was finally going to be able to do what he did best: tear the evidence apart.

\---

Marcus was at her door barely ten minutes after Abby got home from the clinic. She hurried down three flights of stairs from her bedroom where she’d been getting changed to the front door, and let him in.

“Hi,” he said, striding into the hallway and then stopping dead when he turned and saw her, his eyes widening. “Did I catch you in the middle of something?”

“I was getting changed,” said Abby, “and then you were pressing on the buzzer like your life depended on it. I didn’t have time!”

“I’m not complaining,” he said, his eyes slipping to her bare legs, and her blouse that barely covered her ass and showed her white lacy underwear. “After you.” He gestured for Abby to precede him up the stairs.

“No way!” said Abby.

“It was worth a try!” He grinned, then headed up the stairs to the kitchen. Abby sprinted past him up to her bedroom. She changed into her black jeans and grey sweater and then returned to the kitchen.

Marcus was pulling the food cartons from a large paper bag. “Are we having wine or beer tonight?” he said, opening her fridge and peering inside. He was at home in her house now after spending so much time here, thought nothing of helping himself to what he wanted, not that he’d ever really stood on ceremony.

“I think beer with the Chinese.”

Marcus took two beers from the fridge, gave one to Abby. They picked up their food and went into the living room, settling next to each other on the sofa. Marcus’s briefcase was already on the coffee table. Abby was anxious to know what he’d found, whether he had any good news for her, but she knew by now that Marcus operated better when he had some food in his belly.

“Oh, you got me beef with broccoli,” she said, peering into her carton. 

“Your favourite.”

“Yes. Yum!” She ate a piece of the sticky beef and sat impatiently while Marcus delved into his orange chicken.

When he’d eaten a few mouthfuls, Marcus opened his briefcase, pulled out a sheaf of papers. “I had an interesting day,” he said. He handed the papers to Abby and she flicked through them. They were close ups from various angles of the main evidence the police had. “The fingerprints were on the lampshade, which is odd, and there were none on the light switch.”

“Why would I touch the shade but not the switch?”

“Exactly. If you were in bed with him, you’d reach out to switch the light off. It makes no sense for your prints to be on the shade, not unless they were put there.”

“It would be hard to plant a good print on that tiny switch,” said Abby, examining the photo closely.

“Yes. They probably tried but weren’t successful. There’s a smudge on the other side but it’s inconclusive.”

“So we’ve got a good argument regarding the lamp.”

“It’s not definitive on its own, but if we can piece it together with other inconsistencies then it is good, yes. It was the same with the book. I’ve handled the book as you would if you were reading it or picking it up, putting it down, even looking through it, and the prints aren’t consistent with that.”

“Good,” said Abby, eating some broccoli.

“The glass isn’t such good news, though. The prints are definitely yours and are in the position you’d expect.” He pulled one of the photos out from the pile she was holding and placed it on top. “Does that glass look familiar?”

Abby looked closely again. It was a tumbler, the kind you could get anywhere. Plain glass, no distinctive markings. “We may have glasses like that at the office, in the kitchen area. I’m not sure.”

“I’ll subpoena them from the DA’s office. If we can match them forensically to this one, then we might be onto something.”

“They could say Rafael took one home; it doesn’t prove I didn’t drink from it in his apartment, especially if my DNA is on it.”

“They can’t prove he didn’t take it from your desk either, so it’s tainted if we can match it. Your DNA is bound to be on it if it’s from your desk.”

“And if it’s not a match?”

“My forensic expert, Monty Green, is having it tested so we can see if there are traces of any other DNA on it, but I can still raise doubt with the touch DNA. The fact is, they must have got this glass from somewhere. You’ve drunk from it, and we just need to find where that happened. I want you to think about anywhere else other than the office you may have drunk from a glass like this.”

“Okay,” said Abby.

“The scarf I’m not bothered about. The knife is odd as well. Your fingerprints are smudged and there’s only a partial, which is good. They’re also in such a position as to suggest you were stabbing downwards at him, but the autopsy concludes he was stabbed in his stomach and chest, from the front while he was standing. Stand up, let me show you.”

Abby stood and Marcus stood in front of her holding his chopstick. “If I was going to stab you as the autopsy says, then I would do it like this.” He stabbed towards her with the chopstick, his hand wrapped around the end, his thumb resting on top, his fingers curled beneath. “But the fingerprints are here, like this.” He held the chopstick downwards. In this position Abby could see the thumb wasn’t touching the stick, and the fingers were curled around it evenly. Marcus stabbed downwards, looking like the man from the film Psycho.

“See the difference?”

“Yes,” said Abby. She took the chopstick from Marcus, held it the way he’d shown her in the second scenario and tried to stab him in his chest. It was awkward and unnatural. “That’s an odd way to hold a knife.”

“Well, if you grabbed it from the knife block then you might grab it like that, but then it’s hard to stab at the angle the knife wounds show. Your hand would be twisted, and I just can’t see why anyone would do it that way.”

“This is good,” said Abby, as they returned to their seats.

“Yes, I’m really pleased with it. My contention is someone stabbed him from the front with the knife, probably while wearing gloves, and then your fingerprints were added later, and not in the right way. We might be able to get the weapon excluded at the pre-trial and then I don’t see what evidence they have against you.”

“There’s his DNA under my fingernails, and mine under his.”

“We’ve explained that, and we have it on camera.”

“And the threats I made,” she said quietly, remembering how annoyed he’d been that she’d kept that part from him and the police.

Marcus raised his eyebrows at her. “Yes. Well, now we know which neighbour heard you, so I’m going to speak to her, make sure the police have recorded everything she heard. I’ll speak to all your neighbours.”

“Did you ever find anyone who saw me and Rafael in the park that day?”

“Not yet, but I’ve still got people canvassing the area. I’m not giving up.”

“Okay, well this is better than I hoped.” Abby finished her beef, curled her legs beneath her on the sofa.

“Are you eating your spring roll?” said Marcus, looking hopefully at her.

“You can have it.”

“Thank you; you’re a sweetheart,” he said, chuckling to himself as he used the term he knew she hated.

“Watch it, Bambi,” she replied, and she jumped up before Marcus could grab her and pull her nose or tickle her as he was wont to do.

“At least Bambi was cute,” he shouted after her as she went to the kitchen.

“If you don’t behave you’re not getting your treat,” she shouted back.

“Oh! There’s a treat?”

“Only for good boys.”

“Ah, I’m done for then.”

He was grinning when Abby returned to the living room. She put a plate of salted caramel chocolate chip cookies on the table, together with two more beers.

“I made these yesterday,” she said.

“Oh, wow,” he said, picking one up and taking a bite. “Mmm. These are good.”

“Your mom gave me the recipe.”

Marcus looked at her with surprise. “She did? When we were in Ithaca?”

“No, the other day, when we were talking on the phone.”

“You talk on the phone with my mom?”

“Yes. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

He rubbed his chin. “Erm, yes. Of course it is. I just didn’t realise.”

“Just once a week. We have a nice chat.”

Marcus’s brow furrowed. “What about?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know!”

“Yes, I would!”

“It’s not about you, don’t panic. Well... only a little bit about you.” Abby grinned, enjoying his discomfort.

“I shudder to think.”

“She loves you a lot, your mom.”

“Yes,” said Marcus. He finished his cookie, had a sip of his beer. “There are a couple more things, if you don’t mind.” He looked at her with a pained expression which made Abby’s heart beat faster.

“What are they?”

“There’s the diary.”

“Oh. That work of fiction.”

“Yes, and then there’s something else.” He coughed and then he took a small bundle of photographs from his briefcase. “Erm, you will remember when you were arrested they took photographs of you.”

“Yes,” said Abby, and the realisation of what he was going to say hit her suddenly and with full force. She felt herself grow hot and knew her cheeks were red.

“Ones of the marks on your face, and, erm, others.”

Abby took a shaky breath. He meant the ones the tech had taken of her naked body when she was looking for marks, or the lack of them. “Have you looked at them?”

“No,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. “I mean, I saw what they were, like a glance, and when I realised I kind of shuffled through without looking to get to the last of them. I didn’t see anything.”

“Oh, okay.” Relief flooded Abby, followed closely by uncertainty. He was bringing the photos up for a reason.

“They need to be examined closely,” he said, and his own cheeks were pink. “We need to make sure that the police aren’t saying there’s something there that isn’t on the photos, and we also need to satisfy ourselves that there isn’t anything that can help us or harm us.”

“There won’t be anything. He only touched my face and my arm.”

“I know, but there might be something from an unrelated incident like you banging your leg on a table or something that resulted in a bruise you never noticed, but the police can add it to their evidence.”

He was right, of course. She couldn’t let embarrassment be the cause of a problem later. It was just, this had been such an intimate and painful experience, and she didn’t want him to see her like that. She didn’t want to be exposed so starkly to his scrutiny. If he were ever to see her naked, which was unlikely, but still, it shouldn’t be like this. God! She had to do it, had to let him examine them. It was for her own benefit.

“I. I don’t mind you seeing them. I. I trust you,” she said in a shaky voice.

He took her hand, grasped it tight. “I don’t need to see them,” he said in a soft voice. “You can look at them and tell me if there’s anything I need to know.”

His response was unexpected, and it overwhelmed Abby for a moment. “You want me to look at them?”

“Yes. You know what you’re looking for. You’ve done things like this before.”

“I know, but...” He was trusting her, and it must be hard for him because he liked to be in control of everything, didn’t trust others to do as good a job as him. “Thank you,” she said.

“I’ll leave them with you; you can look at them when you’re ready.” He put the package of photos on the table.

They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their beers. Abby’s emotions were all over the place. The memory of the indignities she’d suffered after her arrest was trying to push its way into her mind, but Marcus’s kindness and sensitivity, and most of all his trust, was at the forefront. He could easily have looked at the photos, justified it, with or without her permission, but he hadn’t. How different he was when you got to know him, to the image he portrayed, or maybe it was because it was her. Whatever the reason, it was wonderful to know there was such trust between them.

“You said there was the diary to look at as well?” she said, getting back to business.

“Yes. I’ve got photocopies of all the pages. Some of the entries are dated. I need you to look at the dates and think about where you were then. See what proof you have of what you were doing. I’m hoping there’s at least a couple of dates we can prove you were elsewhere.”

He handed a larger sheaf of papers to Abby, and she curled up on the sofa to read them. “Oh, my God,” she said after she’d read the first few entries. “This is a complete fantasy!”

“I know,” said Marcus. “Does it sound like him? Are these the kinds of words he used, is it his handwriting?”

Abby tried to look dispassionately at the diary entries. It was hard, because the words were infused with the essence of her in many ways, things she had said to Rafael, or to others in front of him, mixed with other things she would never say, and acts she would never have performed with him.

“I didn’t know him all that well personally, really. Not to this level, but yes, it does sound like him, and I have said some of these things. It looks like his handwriting.”

“Then he was either completely deluded, or he was involved,” said Marcus.

“In his own murder?” said Abby, shocked at the implication.

“He wouldn’t have been expecting that, obviously. Whoever has set you up has found it expedient to get rid of him as well. Maybe it wasn’t the initial plan. Maybe he was supposed to seduce you, then sue you for harassment and destroy you that way, but you didn’t play ball. You didn’t sleep with him, and they were forced into more extreme measures.”

“But to kill him!”

“He was a loose end, wasn’t he? If he was in on it, if he was paid or encouraged in some way to entrap you, then he knew too much.”

“How can we prove all this?”

Marcus took a long slug of his beer. “I’m hoping to interview Emerson in jail, see if he’s willing to talk. I have a call in with the Governor. It’s been a while, but I’ll get there.”

“You’re tenacious.”

“I don’t give up easily.” He looked into her eyes, and Abby held his gaze.

“One of your better qualities,” she said.

“I have one or two good points,” he replied.

“One or two.” She stretched out on the sofa, put her sockless feet up on his legs.

“Oh, it’s like that is it?”

“I’ve had a tiring day.”

“So have I.”

“I made you cookies.”

Marcus rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “I can never win against that argument.” He put his hands on her legs to hold them. “How was your tiring day?”

Abby told him about her client, Bellamy, and his dead wife, and his small, funny daughter, and the long prison sentence he was facing for the latest in a string of petty crimes he committed to feed and clothe her. As she talked, Marcus stroked the top of her feet absentmindedly. It felt good to be touched like that, even on such a small part of her body. Abby suppressed a moan, because she wasn’t sure if he knew what he was doing, and she didn’t want him to stop.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane has a clandestine meeting. Abby enjoys a home-cooked meal.

Kane was sitting in his jeep on a side road in a snowy Boston when his phone rang.

“It’s me,” said Abby when he answered. There was something in her voice that made the hairs on the back of Kane’s neck stand up.

“What’s up?” he said, forgoing his ritual response of “hey, you”, suspecting it wouldn’t be appropriate.

She breathed in and then out loudly. “I’ve had some hate mail delivered to the house. Same kind of stuff as the texts.”

“Anything obvious on it? Any clues?”

“Not that I can see. There was no postal mark, so I guess it was hand delivered.”

That didn’t sound good. “Were there signs of anything else? Any disturbance?”

“No. I had a good look around the house before I called you. There was a shape on the intercom camera, but it was dark and I couldn’t make them out."

Her camera system was poor quality as had been evidenced by the footage of her and Rafael. Kane had done nothing about it, but maybe it was time to beef up her security. He didn’t say anything, though, not wanting to alarm her too much while he was away.

“I’ll send a courier for it. I assume you’ve bagged it?”

“Yes. I took all the necessary precautions. I’m happy to bring it to you. Are you at home or work?”

It was six thirty on a Thursday, a time when he would usually be in the office or about to leave, but he wasn’t there; he was two hundred and thirty miles away in Abby’s home city. He didn’t want her to know that, though. Not yet.

“Neither, actually,” he said.

“Oh. Where are you?” She sounded disappointed, and Kane felt bad. He didn’t want to lie to her, because he’d promised to always tell her the truth no matter what. Damn. He shouldn’t have answered the call, but the need to make sure she was okay, or just to hear her voice if he was honest, was irresistible. They hadn’t talked in a couple of days due to work pressures.

“I’m out of town following up on another case I had put on the backburner. I won’t be back until tomorrow.” That was the truth, mostly, because the case he was here to investigate wasn’t technically anything to do with Abby’s trial. “How do you feel about the letters coming to your home?” he said to distract her, and because he was concerned for her wellbeing.

“Surprised I haven’t had something like this before now to be honest. It’s not hard to find out where I live.”

“That’s true,” he said, pleased with her attitude, although he was unsettled himself. He didn’t like the thought of her there alone and under threat. She refused to go back to the hotel, though, and short of suggesting they move in together there was little he could do to protect her except install better security. He would sort it out as soon as he returned to New York.

Kane saw movement along the street and looked up. His contact was heading towards him.

“Abby, I have to go. Take care of yourself, please. Lock up tight.”

“I will. You too, whatever you’re doing, Mr Mysterious.”

Kane heard the smile in her voice, and his chest grew tight, because what he might be about to find out could hurt her, and he didn’t want that.

“Dinner at my place tomorrow. I’ll cook for you,” he said. His contact was at the door of the jeep, and Kane held up two fingers to tell him to wait.

“What? Oh, you must be feeling guilty about something. Now I’m definitely intrigued.”

That had backfired! He WAS feeling guilty, and that was why he’d said he’d cook for her, and of course she’d seen right through him. “You got me,” he said, trying to inject humour into his voice. “Okay, I have to go. Take care.”

“You too.”

Kane ended the call, then opened his car window. “Please get in, Detective,” he said.

Detective Johnson of the Boston Police Department was a big guy, and he struggled to squeeze into the bucket seat of Kane’s jeep. “I was surprised to get your call,” he wheezed once he’d finally got himself settled.

“You met with my investigator, though?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d take me seriously. No one has so far.”

“I take this very seriously; that’s why I want to hear what you have to say for myself. Do you mind if I record this?” Kane held up his phone, let his thumb hover over the record button, although in reality he’d been recording since the man got in the car. He wanted to capture his consent.

“I thought this was off the record,” said the detective, looking suspiciously at Kane.

“It is. This isn’t an official statement. It’s just that my memory is terrible. I hit forty the other week, and everything’s going downhill.” He smiled conspiratorially at the detective who was only a few years older than Kane as he knew from his research.

“You don’t have to tell me. Five years ago I was slim as you, and now look.” He patted his ample belly.

Kane nodded, although he doubted the man had ever been slim. The veiny threads on his cheeks, his red nose and the multiple chins spoke of a lifetime of abuse of something, food or alcohol perhaps, or a chronic lack of exercise. Not that Kane cared. The man was excellent at his job, and that was all that mattered.

“So you don’t mind, then, just to aid my memory?”

“No, go ahead. No names, though.”

“Absolutely.” Kane placed the phone on the dash. “So, you were the first detective at the scene of the death of Charles Griffin?”

“That’s right. I’m homicide, and the shout came to us because the death was deemed suspicious by the call handler.”

“Why was that?”

“The prominence of the deceased, mainly.”

“You knew who he was?”

“Of course, he was one of the biggest lawyers in Boston. You’d be hard pressed to find a detective who didn’t know him or of him.”

“Of course, yes.” The same could be said about Kane, although he hoped never under these circumstances.

“He was found in a hotel room, which also made the call handler decide to pass it to us. When I arrived on the scene I thought she was right to be suspicious, because there were items around, things that indicated he hadn’t been alone.”

“Such as?” said Kane, although he already knew most of the story. He was here to look the detective in the eye as he talked, get the measure of him, make sure he was telling the truth.

“Two wine glasses, a room order had been placed for two meals, and it was the room service guy who found the body. The sheets were crumpled, and both pillows had indentations as though two people had been in the bed, and I found an earring on the floor next to the bed. The deceased was partly clothed, dressed only in his underwear.”

“And this was around midnight?” said Kane.

“Yes. The receptionist said he’d arrived alone around twenty hundred hours.”

“And no one else was seen going to his room, or leaving it?”

“No, but I didn’t get to question a lot of people because of what happened next.”

Kane knew what was coming, because he’d been briefed extensively by Sinclair’s private investigator. “Go on,” he said, and he leant towards the detective, as though eager to hear his story, which he was.

“We were guarding the scene. The crime scene techs were on their way, and then the Superintendent arrived, and shut us out of the room.”

“That was unusual, for a man of such high rank to attend a crime scene?”

“Damn right it was! You only ever see him at official events dressed in his uniform like he’s ever done a day’s policing.” Detective Johnson looked as though he was going to spit on the floor of Kane’s jeep, which was alarming. He checked himself, thankfully. “Next thing, he says he’s bringing in a specialist team due to the sensitive nature of the victim, and that was that. We never got to go back in the room.”

“Were you surprised when the death was ruled from natural causes?”

“Yes, I mean I never got to examine the body obviously, and there were no signs of trauma, so I can’t say how he died, but the thing that made me really suspicious was when the report came out. There was no mention of any of what we’d seen in the room. They said he’d died peacefully in his bed. That was a lie. His body was on the floor.”

“And you have proof of this,” said Kane, his heart rate increasing. This was the other thing he’d come to see, the proof. Johnson had only alluded to it with the PI, and Kane was here to persuade him to let him see it.

“I do. A couple of months before I’d been involved in a case where some evidence was lost, and a goddamn twisted defence lawyer had got the case thrown out on a technicality.”

His disgusted face at the mention of the defence lawyer’s tactics made Kane want to smile, but he kept his face straight.

“Since then I’ve taken photos of my own with a small camera, discrete like, just in case.”

“And you took photos of the scene before the Superintendent arrived?”

“I did.” He looked at Kane proudly.

“May I see them?”

Johnson crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Why do you want them? What’s your interest in this case? You’re not even from Boston.”

“I think it might have a bearing on a case I’m working on,” said Kane, opting for the truth, as he suspected Johnson was looking for a good reason to show his hand at last, and there was no better reason than the truth. “It might help someone who is in a lot of trouble, a good person who has done nothing wrong.”

“You mean his daughter, Charles Griffin’s daughter?” The detective looked Kane in the eye, examining him critically. Kane knew he’d made the right decision to be truthful.

“Yes.”

“How can this help her? From what I hear the evidence is substantial.”

“There was evidence in her father’s case, and then there wasn’t. Was it suppressed or was it planted?”

“It always seemed convenient to me, like a classic staging of an affair, but then I wondered why they didn’t go through with it if that was the case. Why did they suppress what they’d planted?”

“That’s a difficult question to answer,” said Kane, who’d pondered this subject since he’d received the PI’s report a couple of days ago.

“Maybe they got cold feet,” said Johnson.

“Or maybe it was two different people, both covering something up.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Johnson breathed in and leant back against the seat so he could stretch his body and fit his hand into his pocket. He pulled out a brown envelope. “I still don’t see how this helps her, but you’re welcome to it. They’re copies, obviously. I have the originals.”

“Thank you,” said Kane, taking the envelope. “I appreciate this.” He put the photos on the dashboard next to his phone. “One more thing. You were the only person willing to talk to my investigator, and nothing has leaked about this incident in the eleven years since Charles Griffin died. How is that possible?”

“Only four people saw the crime scene as it originally was. The room service guy, the receptionist who he told and who called the police, and me and my partner who were the first attenders. The room service guy and the receptionist changed their stories at the inquest to say that he was in bed when they found him. I assume they were paid off. My partner and I were called into our Lieutenant’s office the same day we attended the scene, and it was made clear that the evidence of our eyes was not what we’d seen and that there was a pay rise in it. I needed the money, so did my partner, don’t we all? I’m ashamed of it now, but I had young kids, you know?”

He looked at Kane, pleading for his understanding. Kane nodded dutifully. “Of course, it’s understandable.”

“Yeah. Well, my conscience nagged at me, and I started to try and do some poking around, ask questions etc, and I ended up on desk duty. That’s when I put on the weight,” he said. “It was clear I’d end up jobless if I carried on, so I kept quiet, until I heard his daughter had been arrested, and that you were interested in the case.”

“I am grateful that you have come forward,” said Kane.

“Something needs to be done. There’s corruption in every department.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, a few months later, the businessman, Dante Wallace, donated a huge sum of money to the Medical Examiner’s office. Built a new wing, named it the Charles Griffin wing. I thought that was odd, because he isn’t a man noted for his generosity, and then he upped and married the widow. Was it some quid pro quo for the M.E. turning a blind eye to the reality of Griffin’s death? It sounds ridiculous, and I can’t prove anything. It all stinks, that’s all I know.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” said Kane quietly, because Detective Johnson had unwittingly voiced the suspicion that was growing in his own mind.

“I’d better go,” said Johnson.

“Thank you for your time, and your help,” said Kane, shaking his hand.

“I’ll be watching the case with interest.” Johnson opened the car door, peeled himself out of the seat, and then was gone.

Kane stopped the recording and saved it, then picked up the envelope. He shook out the photos, looked at the death scene of Abby’s father. It was exactly as Johnson had described. The man was honest, and Kane trusted him and his motivations. Dante Wallace was involved in Charles Griffin’s death, he was certain. Kane’s task now was to see if there were links with Abby’s case, starting with the man she’d put away last year, Emerson. He was going to see him after Thanksgiving, and he had a lot of questions.

Kane put the envelope in his jacket pocket. He was supposed to be staying the night in Boston, but he decided to drive home. With light traffic he should be back before midnight. He didn’t want to be too far from Abby, especially after the hate mail, and what he’d discovered tonight. He put the car in drive and pulled out onto the main drag. There was one good thing to have come out of this meeting. Abby’s father hadn’t been having an affair, no matter what the evidence suggested. Whatever the coverup had been for, it wasn’t that, he knew it in his gut. He was pleased, because she clearly worshipped her father and he hadn’t wanted to sully her memory of him. It would be hard enough when she found out what her stepfather had done, assuming Kane could ever prove it.

\---

Abby lay stretched out on Marcus’s sofa, reading the book he’d given her. It was a commitment, the book; eight hundred pages long, and it had taken her nearly two months to get three quarters of the way through because she had so little spare time. It was worth it, though, and she was looking forward to discussing it with Marcus when she was finished.

He was busy in the kitchen and she had no idea what he was making because he’d banished her from the area, like she had done to him the first time she’d been here. That seemed like an age ago now. Their relationship had changed so much since that night. They’d grown close, become friends, skirted the edge of something more that neither of them was willing to address, which was probably for the best.

She heard his footsteps on the wooden floor, looked up to see him approaching with a plate.

“Amuse-bouche?” he said, proffering a plate full of tiny morsels of food.

“What are they?”

“Those are salmon and cream cheese, and those are pesto, tomato and cream cheese. Both are wrapped in bread.”

Abby picked one of the small pesto rolls and popped it in her mouth. “That’s good!” she said.

“Try a salmon one.”

Abby did as he asked. “Mmm. What is that? Lemon?”

“Yes, and dill. Do they amuse you?”

“They amuse me greatly,” she said with a grin. “Thank you.”

“I’ll leave the plate here,” he said, picking one of each himself and popping them into his mouth as he returned to the kitchen.

Abby ate another of the pesto ones. He’d been in a playful mood since he’d returned from wherever it was he’d been yesterday. When she’d pressed him, he’d cited attorney-client privilege and thrust a glass of wine in her hand. She sipped it now, and then returned to her book.

One hour, and thirty pages later, with the smell of fried meat and herby tomatoes filling the room, Marcus returned.

“Dinner is served,” he said, and he held out his hand to help Abby up.

He led her to the table where two steaming bowls of spaghetti and meatballs were sitting in their usual places. Abby took her seat, leaned over the bowl and breathed in the scent.

“Smells wonderful,” she said.

“This is the kind of food I grew up with,” he said, “although I’m nowhere near as good at making it as my mom, or you would probably be.”

“I think it looks great.” Abby split a meatball with her fork, swirled it in the sauce and ate it. “Mmm, yes.”

“You like it?”

“I love it,” she said. “Did you make the meatballs yourself?”

“Of course!” said Marcus looking offended. “It’s my mom’s recipe.”

“They’re spicy and delicious,” said Abby.

“Like me.” Marcus grinned at her as he twisted spaghetti round his fork.

Abby shook her head as she ate. His confidence and pomposity she used to find so annoying, but now it amused her. He said most of it to get a reaction, to make her laugh, and his ability to do that was one of the most surprising things to come out of their blossoming relationship. “Have you spoken to your uncle Frank since we came back from Ithaca?”

“No, I haven’t had chance. They’ve invited me for Thanksgiving, but...” He didn’t finish his sentence, taking a sip of his wine instead.

“Are you going to go?”

“I don’t know. What are you doing?”

Something in Abby’s stomach fluttered when he asked that, as though his plans depended on what she said. She hoped he wasn’t going to be disappointed.

“Raven asked me a while ago, and I said yes because I can’t go to my mother’s, and she’s already got a big party planned, so...”

Marcus nodded. “Of course. You’ll have a good time there.”

“I don’t know about that. Her mother and sister fight all the time. It’s amusing when Raven tells me about it, but I’m not sure it will be funny experiencing it in the flesh.”

“You can always spend it with me,” said Marcus, glancing at her as he split a meatball.

“I’d love to. I really would, but I’ve said yes now. It wouldn’t be right to cancel it.”

“No.”

“Why don’t you go to Frank’s? You can drill him about his time with the mob when he’s too stuffed and drunk to know what he’s saying.”

“I probably will.”

“Will your mom be there?”

“No, she’s spending it with friends. I don’t have time to get up there right now.”

“Your pesky client keeping you busy, is she?” Abby smiled at him.

“She is, yes.” He smiled in return.

“What was it like growing up in Brooklyn?” said Abby, to move the subject on because he seemed disappointed that she wouldn’t be here for the holiday, and she was too now that he’d asked her.

Marcus obliged her with funny stories about his upbringing, the embarrassment he’d previously felt about his past and his youth having disappeared since their trip to Ithaca.

“I’m hopeless at baking,” he said when he brought the second course to the table. “So I picked these up from Ferrara.” He set a Lobster Tail in front of Abby.

“Oh, this is a treat!” She took a big bite and the French cream oozed into her mouth.

“Good, yeah?”

Abby grunted in reply, her mouth still full of the pastry.

After they’d cleared the dishes away, they sat together on the sofa. “I’m going to put my feet up this time,” said Marcus, slipping off his socks and swinging his legs up so that his big feet rested on Abby’s thighs.

“What’s this?” she said, feigning outrage.

“Cook’s privilege.”

“Oh, I’m not sure I want your big smelly feet on me.”

“I had yours on me.”

“My feet aren’t smelly.”

“Neither are mine!” He lifted his foot, rubbed it against her nose.

“Ewww!” she said, although his feet smelled of nothing but whatever he laundered his clothes with. She tried to push him away, but he held firm.

“Give in, or this is all you’ll smell for the rest of your life,” he said.

“Fine.” Abby laughed, and when he lowered his foot she put her hands on top of them like he had done to her. “Are you ticklish?” she said, running her fingers along the sole of one.

“No. Tough.” He grinned.

“Damn. You know if I didn’t know better I’d swear you had siblings growing up, you’re such a tease.”

“I’ve been waiting all my life for someone to torment,” he said.

“I’m so glad you chose me.”

They sat in a warm, comfortable silence for a while, jazz music playing softly in the background. Marcus was onto another book now, something else apocalyptic. Abby didn’t feel like reading; she sat quietly, tracing soft circles in the flesh of his feet, thinking about how they’d come to this, and what it meant. She didn’t know what they were doing on these nights, with this level of intimacy that went so far and no further. It gave her a lot of pleasure, made her feel appreciated and cared for, wanted, enjoyed, and she knew it was the same for Marcus.

At the same time it felt as though if either one of them made a move towards something else, they would fall across the line with ease. Maybe that’s why they were both holding out, because once crossed, there was no going back. Not a problem if you’re a normal couple exploring a fledgling relationship, but a huge issue if you’re attorney and client, and one of you is facing a life in prison. There was no exciting future there, just heartache.

They needed this, though, were both lonely, starving for exactly what they were giving each other - time, attention, affection, entertainment, support, the touch of another human being. It wasn’t a bad thing.

“I hate to bring down the mood,” said Marcus as he laid his book on the table.

“Sounds ominous.”

“I’m worried about this person coming to your house yesterday, being that close to you.”

“I wasn’t in at the time.”

“That’s irrelevant. You could have been. What if he comes when you are in? What if he knocks on your door?”

“Marcus!” Abby’s heart started racing at his words.

Marcus looked at her with worried eyes. “I don’t mean to frighten you, but I’m concerned.”

“I can handle myself.” She could tell from the way his lips twitched that he was holding back a comment. Probably along the lines of what a good job she’d done so far of that.

“You won’t move back to the hotel, will you?” he said, looking hopefully at her.

“I can’t live like that, Marcus. It’s suffocating.”

He ran his hand through his hair, sighed. “I know. I want to get you better security, upgrade your cameras and your alarm system.”

“Is that really necessary? They’re idle threats, that’s all. I’ve been getting them over a month now and nothing has happened.”

“Nothing has happened yet.”

“If it makes you feel happier.”

“It does.”

“Okay.” Abby gave in because she had been perturbed by the letter, and the fact she couldn’t see anything about the person delivering it, couldn’t prepare herself because she couldn’t tell if they were male or female, tall or short, big or small or anything at all about them.

“I want you to use my car service as well. No more getting the subway home after you’ve been here or anywhere.”

“I don’t need your service. I’ve never had a problem walking in New York.”

“You’ve never had someone stalking you before.”

“It’s not a stalker.” Abby didn’t like the sound of that word, had done a good job so far of putting the texter at the bottom of a large pile of problems. Now Marcus was trying to bring it to the top, make her have to think about it, deal with it, worry about it.

“Whatever. I still want you to use my service.”

“I can pay for my own car service if it comes to that.”

“There’s no point having separate services. It will be cheaper if we use the same one. You can reimburse me if you really feel the need, but I’m being paid well enough by your family to look after you.”

A sarcastic comment about him doing this for the money came to her mind but Abby dismissed it because she knew that wasn’t his motivation and it would be unkind to undermine him for trying to protect her.

“It’s either this or you move in with me,” he said, and his eyes were so dark and penetrating as he said this that her stomach flipped. She was tempted to say yes just to see what he’d do.

“You’d have to pick up your underpants,” she said with a smile.

“You’d have to clear your hairs from the bath.”

“What?”

“It was like Chewbacca was living in there when we were in Ithaca.”

“It was not!”

Marcus gave her a smug know-it-all look.

“I’ll use the car service then,” said Abby.

“Good,” he said, looking pleased with his victory.

“One day I’m going to get you back for all this.”

“I look forward to it.” He picked up his book again, sat back against the sofa.

Abby flicked on the TV, turned the sound up loud so it would disturb him. She chose the worst programme she could think of to watch, but he just lifted his book higher so he couldn’t see the screen.

Bastard, she thought, suppressing the smile that wanted to erupt all over her face.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Thanksgiving. Kane and Abby spend it apart, but wish things were different.

Kane stood under the red awning that sheltered the door of Frank’s duplex while the man himself sat on the stoop smoking a foul-smelling cigarette. It was cold, and Kane wished he’d put a jacket on over his thin black sweater. He took a swig of his beer, which didn’t do anything to warm him up. The street was quiet, even though they were only a block from the main shops on Bay Parkway in Bensonhurst. Kane had grown up here, surrounded by other Italian Americans, and it hardly seemed to have changed at all.

“Bringing back memories, eh, son?” said Frank, puffing out an acrid plume of grey smoke.

“Some.”

“You used to call in here on your way home from school, beg your aunt Marie for a cannoli. Funny little thing you were. Lots of curly hair.” He shook his head. Kane couldn’t see his face, but he guessed he was smiling at the memory.

“Mom said I was like Bambi at that age.”

“You were a cute bambino.”

“No I mean like the deer, in the Disney movie.”

Frank turned to look up at Kane. “With your legs? Yeah, I suppose.” He laughed.

“I wonder what my life would have been like if we hadn’t moved to Ithaca?” Kane had pondered this question a lot over the years, but it had come into sharper focus since he’d found out they’d practically fled Brooklyn rather than making a calculated decision to leave. If Frank hadn’t been involved with the mob, Kane might have reached adulthood on these streets. He wouldn’t have gone to Cornell. Would he even be a lawyer? It was impossible to know.

Frank sniffed, blew out a long stream of smoke then flicked the cigarette butt into a bucket of sand on the side of the stoop. “Not as good as it is now, I expect.”

“You did me a favour then, I guess, making us leave.”

Frank put his hand on the rail, eased himself up and turned so that he was looking at Kane. He was two steps below him and had to look up even more than usual. “What do you mean?”

“Just that I...”

The door opened, and Kane had been leaning against it, so he nearly fell backwards into the house. He managed to right himself in time, but his stomach thought it was still heading towards the ground, and he felt sick for a moment.

“Dinner’s ready,” said his aunt Marie, oblivious to the turmoil she’d just caused Kane.

“Thank you,” he said as his equilibrium returned. He followed her into the house, pausing in the kitchen to grab two more beers. He was determined to get Frank drunk this afternoon, get him to spill the beans about the mob.

He sat at the table while his aunt served the food. It was a traditional Thanksgiving meal in the sense that it centred around a turkey, but that was the only homage it paid to their adopted homeland. The bird had been basted in a bottle of white wine instead of fat, and stuffed with herbs. The trimmings were Sicilian style potatoes, salty and rich with salami and oregano, with squash roasted in balsamic and lemony green beans to cleanse the palate. There wasn’t a cranberry in sight.

“This is delicious, Marie,” said Kane as he tucked in.

“Thanks, love.” Marie smiled at him warmly as she watched him eat. “Your mom tells me you have a lady in your life now, Marcus.”

Kane had just put a large forkful of squash into his mouth and had to wait to answer while he chewed it. “I’m sorry?” he said.

“That girl you’re defending, Abby, is it?”

“She’s not my lady,” said Kane, amused at the old-fashioned language and also mortified that his mother had been gossiping about him and Abby to Marie.

“Oh? Your mom said you were taken with her.”

“No. It’s not like that.”

“I see. Vera says she’s a lovely girl, that she talks to her every week on the phone.”

“I believe they speak, yes.”

Marie glanced at Frank, pulled a confused face. “She talks to your mom but she’s nothing special to you?”

Kane took a large sip of his beer. “I’m not saying she’s not special. She is a nice woman, a... a good person. And she gets on well with my mom. They’re alike in a lot of ways.”

“Well they say men fall for someone who reminds them of their mother,” said Marie, looking smugly at Kane.

“I... no... it’s...” Kane didn’t know what to say, or why it was so hard to say that Abby was special to him. The intensity of Marie’s questioning would skyrocket for one thing, and it would get back to Vera, and then they’d be planning his wedding before he’d finished dessert.

“Couldn’t wait to get away from my mother,” said Frank, looking deadpan at Marie.

“Your mother couldn’t wait to get rid of you!” said Marie. “I’ve been living in hope myself, but you’re still here!” She waved a dismissive hand at Frank.

“You’re nothing without me.”

“I’d be Mayor of New York without you.”

Kane smiled as he watched them bicker. He could see himself at eight years old, sitting at a table like this in his own home, his mother and father sharing quiet smiles across the table, Marie and Frank arguing, their voices getting louder the more they drank. Kane would sit and take it all in, fascinated by the differences between his mother and her brother. After dinner Marie and Frank would sit in chairs at opposite ends of the living room, scowling at each other. Kane would wander into the kitchen, see his dad put his arms around his mom while she washed the dishes, kiss the side of her neck. She would turn, smiling, put a soapy finger on his nose to leave a bubble, then kiss his lips. It was the same every year until he died.

The memory moved him, and made him wonder. Had he been yearning to replicate their relationship all these years? He sighed. You’re going soft, he told himself. It was Abby’s fault. She brought it out in him.

They finished the main course and Marie brought out her famous pumpkin pie panna cotta with a slice of apple-rosemary tart. Kane’s mouth watered. It had been years since he’d eaten this, but his body was already responding to the thought, like a food muscle memory. He knew it would be good. He glanced at Frank, who had gone a nice shade of red and whose eyes were sparkling. This was the perfect time to question him, while his tongue was loosened, but he was still compos mentis.

“I talked to mom about what you said when we watched the game,” he said to him.

“What was that?”

“About you working for the mob, and that’s why we had to leave the city.”

“Marcus!” said Marie in a shocked voice.

“Mom told me it’s the truth, so there’s no point lying.”

“I’ll have words with your mother,” said Frank.

“It’s not her fault. You’re the one that let the cat out of the bag.”

“Hmm.”

Kane popped some panna cotta in his mouth, stared with eyebrows raised at Frank. “Well?”

“What do ya wanna know?”

“You said you were working for Luca Romano. What did you do for him?”

“Driving mostly, like I told ya. He was a young man back then, just taking over the business from his father. I guess he needed protection.”

“And you protected him? How?”

Frank shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. He looked towards Marie, then down at his food. “Nothing bad. Nothing like what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“I didn’t kill nobody,” Frank mumbled.

“Was that what he was doing? Killing people?”

“No, no. Well, not directly.”

“Not directly? What does that mean?”

“There was never anything you could pin to him, and he never asked me to do anything like that. And I wouldn’t have!” Frank said, nodding at Marie and Kane to emphasise his point. “But people would disappear, you know. It’s how it was back then.”

“People like who?”

“Rivals. People who crossed him.”

“That’s how he became rich,” said Kane.

“Richer. He was already rolling in money. He inherited it from his father, and not just the business, if you know what I mean.” Frank finished his beer, looked hopefully at Marie, who glared back.

“I’d love another beer too, Marie,” said Kane, anxious not to stop Frank now he was on a roll.

Frank waited until Marie had left the room, then he leant closer to Kane. “I did do some bad things,” he whispered. “He was a nasty piece of work, Romano. I beat a few people up, didn’t kill them or nothing, but put ‘em in the hospital, you know.”

“Right,” said Kane, trying to disguise his shock. “So, Romano is your age really, like around seventy.”

“Yeah.”

“Who else was around at the time in Brooklyn?”

“The big old families were still ruling everything. Romano was part of that, but there was new blood coming in, people without old world connections.”

He meant people who weren’t from southern Italy, outside the traditional crime families.

“Any names you can remember?”

“There was a guy, Cassini or something. He disappeared back in the eighties. Someone called Wallace. I don’t know what happened to him.”

“Wallace?” said Kane, his heart racing. A cold shiver ran through him, settling like a fog in his gut. “Dante Wallace?”

“Yeah, some weird name like that. He wasn’t in the mob, though.”

“Oh,” said Kane, and he wasn’t sure if the feeling that washed over him was relief or disappointment. “What was his connection?”

“He was friendly with Romano for a while, learnt the business from him I think, and then they fell out. I guess he went the way of the rest of ‘em.”

“I don’t think so. Dante Wallace is still alive.”

“Really?” Frank turned his drunken, bloodshot eyes on Kane. “I’m surprised. Not many people survive betraying Romano.”

“No,” said Kane, thinking about the man’s dead, young wife.

Marie returned with their drinks and a coffee for herself. Frank sat back in his chair.

“Are we done talking about this?” Marie said. “It’s not good dinner table talk.”

“I’m sorry, Marie. I just have one more question for Frank. Have you ever heard of a guy called Emerson? Youngish, my age probably, maybe a little older.”

“Is he from New York?”

“Yes.”

“There was an Emerson who did some fixing for Romano, but he’d be old now, like me.”

“His son, perhaps?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve been out of the scene a long time now.” Frank fixed Kane with a rheumy stare. Kane wasn’t convinced he was telling the truth about being out of the scene, but he’d given Kane a valuable lead about Emerson, and a possible connection between mobsters of New York and Abby’s stepfather.

“Okay.” Kane ate the last of his pie, turned the conversation to Marie’s favourite topic, which was his old elementary school where she was Governor.

He tried to listen, but his thoughts kept returning to the connection between Romano and Wallace. Dante had denied knowing Romano in any kind of meaningful way when they’d had breakfast. That might just be a successful businessman not wanting some of his youthful indiscretions coming back to haunt him, or it might mean they still had a connection, one he didn’t want Kane to know about. What Kane found confusing was why Wallace would hire him to defend Abby, when he knew Kane’s methods, knew he would investigate everyone related to the case, Wallace included. He must have known some of this would come out. Why risk it? Maybe Elizabeth pushed him, and he had no choice.

He sat back while Marie talked, let one half of his brain listen to her while the other half percolated the information he’d been given, make its own connections. Kane often felt like he had very little control or say in how this part of his brain worked. He’d learned to trust it over the years, and he did that now.

\---

Abby’s Thanksgiving was more traditional than the one Marcus was having, and a lot noisier. There were four children in addition to Raven’s sister and her husband, Raven and her mom. It was a crowded table, and Abby felt out of place as she sat in the middle of it all. The food was edible, but nothing special, and most of her plate was drowned in some kind of cranberry sauce. She picked at the food, causing Raven to put her hand on Abby’s arm, ask her if she was alright.

“I’m fine,” said Abby. “I’m not eating much these days,” which was a huge lie, because all she ever seemed to do was eat with Marcus.

“It’s understandable,” said Raven with a comforting smile, “but you have to keep your strength up.”

Abby nodded, feeling bad that she was using her situation to excuse her lack of interest in the food, but she couldn’t force it down, and she wasn’t about to tell Raven her mom’s food stunk, so this was the best compromise.

“What would you normally be doing now, if that’s not too hard a question?”

“My mom often throws parties on Thanksgiving. We rarely have a sit-down meal. It’s usually a buffet on a theme of Thanksgiving. She has it catered.”

“Oh, wow. This must be a come down for you, then.”

“Not at all. It’s lovely.” Abby was gratified to see Raven’s smile of pleasure. She didn’t like to lie, but sometimes it was for the best, and it was only a white lie. It was nice to be here rather than on her own, although she could have been with Marcus, but he’d asked her too late and it had never crossed her mind to ask him. She’d assumed he would be visiting his mother or didn’t bother with a holiday like Thanksgiving. It would be too corny for him, although he enjoyed sports.

What would a Thanksgiving with him have been like? Would they have shared the cooking? Made the meal together, side by side in his enormous kitchen. It gave Abby a warm feeling to think about it. She’d drunk too much wine probably. She took another sip anyway. It was the only way she was going to get through this day.

After dinner they played Pictionary, which started out raucous and ended up in tears and threats of bedtime and not only for the children. Abby looked at her watch. It was still only six o’clock. She wondered what Marcus was doing now. Had he questioned his uncle like he’d said he would? She pulled out her phone, turned it over and over in her hands. She could call him, but was that weird? Did you call your attorney on Thanksgiving? No, but he wasn’t just her attorney.

She opened her contacts, and then Raven appeared, red-faced and flustered.

“I’m just going to help mom with the dishes,” she said.

Abby started to get up. “I’ll help you.”

“No, you won’t. You sit and relax. I insist.”

Raven left and Abby stood anyway. She walked out of the sitting room into a small conservatory on the side of the house. It was cool in the room, which Abby needed because her cheeks were warm from the wine.

She opened her phone again, brought up Marcus’s number, pressed the button before she could change her mind. It rang a few times, and she was about to end the call when it connected.

“Hey, you,” he said, making Abby smile.

“Hey. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving to you. How are you doing?”

Abby glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “I’m okay. I’d rather be at home to be honest.”

“I said you should have spent it with me.”

“Yeah. Next year.”

“Next year.”

His breaths were loud in her ear, and Abby held the phone closer. “How are things with you? Have you talked to Frank?”

“I have. He said some very interesting things.”

“Ooh! Such as?”

“I can’t really talk now, but I’ll tell you when I see you.”

“Can’t you just give me one titbit? I’m starving here.”

There was a brief pause where the only sound was his breathing. “Romano is much dirtier than I thought. He’s connected to the oldest crime families in New York!”’

“Oh, wow. That’s...”

“Marcus?”

A woman’s voice in the background; it must be his aunt Marie. Abby heard Marcus sigh.

“I’m on the phone.”

“Who with?”

Abby held her breath to see what he would say. She expected he wanted to say no one, but didn’t dare.

“Erm, it’s Abby.”

“Abby?” Marie’s voice was closer now, and she sounded interested.

“Yes.”

“Oh, let me see her.”

“You can’t see her; she’s on the phone.”

“Can’t you do that video thingy that they do?”

“Why do you want to see her? She doesn’t want to see you,” said Marcus in an exasperated voice.

“I do, Marcus,” said Abby, desperate for a distraction, and curious to see the rest of his family.

“I’m sure she does, Marcus.”

Marcus sighed loudly. “Okay, hang on, let me try and work this thing.” He cursed under his breath and then after a few seconds a request came for Abby to switch to video, which she did. Marcus’s face loomed large in the screen.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” He rolled his eyes into the camera, making Abby laugh.

“Let’s see her, Marcus.”

Abby found herself looking jerkily around a small living room with old-fashioned wallpaper and lots of wood-framed family photos. A man who looked almost exactly like Vera was lolling in a chair, and a small woman with dyed black hair and dark brown eyes was smiling. She was taken closer to the woman, who reached out a hand and took the phone from Marcus.

“Oh, you’re very pretty, Abby. Isn’t she pretty, Frank?” Frank peered at the phone, his nose almost touching the glass at one point.

“Hmm,” he said, then he flopped back in his chair.

“Thank you,” said Abby. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Frank’s worse for wear,” said Marcus in the background.

“Okay,” said Abby, laughing again.

“He’s always like that,” said Marie. “Don’t worry, love, Marcus doesn’t take after him. He takes after his dad, who was a good man. Handsome too, like Marcus.”

“Abby doesn’t want to hear all that,” sighed Marcus.

“Oh, I always like to hear about your childhood, Marcus,” Abby said to tease him.

“Abby, love, you could have come here you know for your dinner. We’d have loved to have you. You get used to Frank.”

“That’s really kind, but I already had an invitation unfortunately.”

“You can come by any time. We don’t get to meet Marcus’s friends often.”

“Never met one,” mumbled Frank. “He knows better than to bring ‘em here.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” said Marcus, and the scene in front of Abby blurred as he carried her away. “Sorry about that,” he said, and his face appeared again, his cheeks pinker than they were before.

“Don’t be sorry. They’re hilarious.”

“That’s one word for them. Hang on a minute.” Abby stared up at a ceiling while she heard shuffling noises in the background, then she was picked up again and she heard a screen door creak. “I’ve taken you outside. It’s the only place I can get peace.”

“Show me around,” Abby said.

Marcus panned the camera slowly around a tree-lined street with tightly packed houses. Cars were parked nose to tail and all the houses had stoops, and awnings over the doors.

“This was your neighbourhood?” she said.

“Yes. Until I was ten.”

“Was your house like these?”

“Pretty identical, yeah.”

“Lovely.”

“There are worse places to grow up I suppose.” His eyes panned the street in front of him. “Are you really okay? I didn’t expect to hear from you today.”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you.”

“God, no. You saw what I was putting up with in there. I’m glad you called.”

“It’s the same here,” whispered Abby. “Chaos.”

“We could have been drinking champagne with our feet up on the sofa now.”

“What jazz would we be listening to?”

“Some Billie Holiday maybe.”

“Sounds nice. Whose feet would be getting rubbed, though?”

“Mutual foot rubs as it’s Thanksgiving.”

“I’m grateful for your foot rubs,” said Abby.

“I’m grateful for yours.” He smiled warmly into the camera and it was all Abby could do not to reach up and stroke the screen. Jesus, she really had had too much wine.

“Speaking of jazz,” said Marcus.

“Yes?”

He coughed. “I was wondering if you had plans for your birthday. It’s only a week away, right?”

Abby was taken aback for a moment, surprised that he’d remembered or thought about it. “Yes, it’s next Thursday.”

“Are you doing anything?”

“No,” she said, her heart suddenly racing. “I don’t have anything special planned.”

“Then I’d like to take you to the jazz club, if that’s alright with you.”

“That sounds great, yes. Thanks.” Something was making Abby’s limbs tingle. It was the wine. Definitely the wine.

“Great. I’ll firm up the details next time I see you.”

“Okay.” Abby could hear Raven’s voice in the background. It sounded like she was heading this way. “I have to go now.”

Marcus pulled a sad face. “Okay. I guess I should get back too.”

Abby nodded. She was reluctant to let him go, and he made no move to end the call either. “Marcus,” she said, feeling reckless all of a sudden.

“What?” he said softly.

“I’m thankful that I have you in my life.”

His brow furrowed slightly, but his eyes were soft and warm. “I’m thankful for you too.”

“Okay. Have a good evening.”

“You too, Abby.”

Abby clicked off the phone before she could say anything even more revealing.

“Who was that?”

Abby turned to see Raven standing in the doorway.

“Erm, Kane.”

“Kane Facetimed you on Thanksgiving? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong, and I called him.”

Raven frowned. “You called him? Why?”

Abby let out a long breath, looked at Raven. She didn’t want to lie to her friend and at the same time she didn’t want to admit that there was anything other than a professional relationship between her and Marcus. She didn’t know how Raven would take it, and a large part of her wanted to keep it to herself, to treasure it. Then there was another part that was longing to talk to someone else about everything, to let her feelings out, because she couldn’t do that with Marcus or anybody.

“No reason, really.”

Raven examined Abby closely, her brown eyes roaming her face. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, I see.”

“Nothing’s happening.”

“But you want it to.”

“No. I... I don’t know.”

“Kane, Abby?” The look of horror and confusion on Raven’s face made Abby want to laugh.

“He’s not like how he is,” she said, aware of the ridiculousness of that statement.

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s wonderful, Raven,” said Abby, deciding to let the truth out, because she needed to, and there was nothing to lose, apart from her reputation in her friend’s eyes.

“Kane? Marcus Kane? The man who called you weak, said you had no balls, who defamed you in a journal read by everyone who’s anyone?”

“He’s different when you get to know him.”

“He’d have to be! Wow! I’m sorry, Abby, but you’ve really surprised me.”

“I felt the same as you, but he’s so kind deep down, so caring, and funny. He makes me laugh all the time.”

“Abby, you’re vulnerable right now. I don’t mean to belittle you, but it would be easy for him to take advantage of that.”

“That’s not what’s happening.”

“I know you think that, but, well you wouldn’t know, you wouldn’t realise. He has a terrible reputation with women. You know that!”

Abby realised that starting this conversation had been a mistake. She couldn’t tell Raven the truth about Marcus without betraying his confidences, and she would never do that.

“We enjoy each other’s company, that’s all.”

“Are you... are you sleeping with him?”

“No. It’s not like that. It’s more of a friendship, a really good, lovely friendship.”

Raven nodded, but Abby could tell she was still sceptical. “He’s your attorney first and foremost.”

“I know that.”

Raven sighed, then she grabbed Abby’s hand, squeezed it. “Don’t rush into anything. Don’t do anything you’ll regret once you’re in a better place.”

“He’s a good man, Raven,” said Abby.

“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry, Abby. You took me by surprise that’s all. I trust your judgement. You can talk to me about him. You should be able to talk to me.”

“Thank you,” said Abby, but she already knew she wasn’t going to mention Marcus again. Raven was never going to understand, and it wasn’t her fault because Abby was never going to be able to tell her the truth about him. It wasn’t her place, and as much as she loved Raven, the last few months had taught her not to trust as easily as she once had.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Abby!

Kane spent a ridiculous amount of time getting ready for his night out with Abby at the jazz club. Numerous suits and shirts were tried on and discarded before he finally chose a grey single-breasted three-piece suit that was so dark it was almost black, and a dark blue/grey shirt. He thought about a tie, but decided against it, and left the shirt unbuttoned at the top. He fastened the waistcoat, which fitted his slim frame perfectly, then pulled on the jacket and left it undone. He didn’t usually wear jewellery, except for his Rolex, but he slipped a silver and onyx signet ring that had belonged to his father on his middle finger. He didn’t know why he did it, because it never usually left its box, except that it made him feel good.

He stood in front of the full-length mirror to appraise himself. He’d had his hair trimmed and it was neat, his waves tamed into submission with hairspray. He hadn’t been out on a date in a long time, and certainly not one like this, which he wasn’t sure was even a date. He didn’t want to look like he’d made too much effort, and at the same time he wanted to look good for Abby. He pulled on the tails of his waistcoat, checked himself over one last time. He thought he’d struck the right balance. A dark suit and shirt would complement whatever Abby chose to wear, and he had no idea what that would be. He’d only ever seen her in suits or jeans and sweaters.

His phone buzzed with a text from his car service who were waiting on the street. Here we go, he thought, and his hands grew sweaty even though he was still miles away from Abby. It was the uncertainty about what the night meant that was making him nervous. It was just a celebration of her birthday, nothing more. He took a deep breath, tucked her gift into his pocket, and left.

It was only a ten-minute drive at this time of night, and he waited in the car until the time he’d agreed to meet Abby. He looked up at her townhouse, saw the light in what he knew was her bedroom go out, and then a minute later the light in the hallway came on. She must be ready. He stepped out of the car, opened the gate and crossed the small courtyard to her front door. He pressed the buzzer, then stood back.

A few seconds passed, and then the door opened, and Abby was standing framed in a warm light. She was wearing a jade green dress that hugged every curve, cinched at the waist with a belt. The bodice wrapped across, pushing her breasts together, and the short sleeves were capped. She’d definitely gone for a nineteen fifties style and Kane lost the ability to breathe for a moment.

“Oh, my God!” he said without thinking. He stared at her, taking in her long golden-brown hair that was lifted away from her face and hung in soft curls, and her smoky eyes and soft pink lips. She was literally breath-taking, far lovelier than Lauren Bacall.

“Is it too much?” she said with a frown. “I wanted to look the part.”

Kane pulled himself together enough to walk towards her as she closed the door behind her. “You look stunning. Truly amazing.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, smelled her perfume, something light and fresh that evoked summer. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you. You look very handsome.”

She took the arm Kane offered, and he walked her to the car, opening the door so she could slide in. He used the couple of seconds it took to walk around to the other side of the vehicle to compose himself. His pulse was racing, and he didn’t know how he was going to survive the night with her looking like that.

\---

They were silent as they drove the short distance to the club. Abby’s heart was thumping against her chest. Marcus’s reaction to her outfit had taken her aback, even though she knew she looked good. She hadn’t been sure if it was the right thing to wear, but the way he’d looked at her, and the things he’d said had told her she’d made the right choice. He was dressed the part himself. She’d never seen him in a waistcoat before and it suited him. The dark greys and blacks emphasised his dark eyes and he’d had his hair cut. He looked so good, better than any member of the Rat Pack, and she was glad she’d gone the extra mile.

Her uncertainty wasn’t because she didn’t know how to look good; she’d grown up going to parties and galas and all kinds of fancy places. She’d never worn this style of clothes before, or done her hair in this fashion, and it had made her nervous to come out of her comfort zone. She looked different to usual and he was probably wondering if she’d done it for him. She preferred to think of it as broadening her horizons, trying new ideas. That it suited her, that she looked great, and that he liked it, was just a bonus.

When they arrived at the club Marcus opened her door for her again and she took his arm as they headed down some steep steps and through a door into a room that was long and narrow, with an arch in the centre separating a bar area from a stage and seating area. Huge thick columns ran down the side of the room, painted a midnight blue, and industrial steel pipes hung from the ceiling in the same colour. A piano sat proudly on the stage next to a double bass and a drumkit, but there was no one playing them. Music came instead from big black speakers that teetered on thin legs and were scattered around the room. Photos of jazz legends and New York cityscapes cluttered the red walls, obscured in places by long diaphanous curtains in rich reds and golds that hung to the floor. 

“What do you think?” said Marcus, who had been watching her, waiting for her reaction.

“I absolutely love it,” she said.

“I hoped you would.”

“I do.” She smiled at him, and he nodded.

“Good. Erm, before we go in, I, erm... I got you something, just a small something for your birthday.”

“Oh, wow! That’s kind of you,” said Abby, surprised again.

Marcus fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a small, thin, oblong box. He took a deep breath, handed it to her. He looked nervous, and that made Abby nervous. What the hell was in here?

She opened it, and it was a necklace, white gold, a delicate four-leaved clover studded with tiny diamonds. The empty space between each leaf outline was shaped like a heart. Abby was lost for words.

“It’s a four-leaf clover,” said Marcus.

“Yes,” said Abby, finally able to speak. “It’s beautiful.” She looked up at him. He was looking down at her, uncertainty on his face.

“I thought with your Irish heritage it would be appropriate, and you know, that it would bring you luck... with everything. It’s lame, isn’t it?”

“No, it is not! I love it. It’s perfect.”

“Do you want to wear it?” said Marcus.

“Yes, please.”

He took the necklace from the box, and Abby held up her hair so he could fasten it around her neck. His breath was warm on her cheek as he leaned in to fiddle with the clasp. The pendant rested in the vee of Abby’s breasts, and he stood back, put his finger on the clover to adjust its position, brushing against her skin. Abby’s pulse throbbed.

“Beautiful,” he said, stepping back so he could look at her.

“It’s so thoughtful of you,” said Abby, and she reached up to kiss his cheek, ended up putting her arm around his neck, drawing him into a hug. He smelled different tonight, warmer, spicier. He put his arms around her, one planted in her lower back, the other pressed against her hair, stroking it softly. “Thank you,” she whispered again.

“You deserve it.” He leaned back, breaking the hug. “Shall we get a drink?”

“Yes, let’s,” said Abby, who felt like she could down an entire bottle of whisky and it wouldn’t be enough to quell the feelings that were bubbling inside her.

Marcus led the way to the bar. “Whisky?” he said.

“Yes, please.”

“What would you like?” He gestured to a row of glass-backed shelves that held dozens of whiskies from all over the world.

“That’s a lot of whisky!”

“Maybe we should have bourbon given the setting.”

“That sounds good.”

Marcus held up two fingers to the barman who handed Abby a heavy cut-glass tumbler filled with a dark liquid. She took a sip and warmth flowed through her body like lava.

The sat in the corner at a table for two with a good view of the room. The club was half full, but it was still early.

“Do you come here often?” she said to Marcus, who laughed.

“Is that your usual pick up line?”

Abby laughed when she realised what she’d said. “I’m usually more creative.”

“Well, you don’t have to pick me up; you’ve got me already,” he said, letting fly another of his zingers, seemingly unaware of its effect.

She grew warm, and not just from the whisky. “It was you who asked me out,” she said.

“That’s true.” He smiled as he sipped his bourbon.

“So do you, though, come here often?”

“Not as often as I’d like. Once or twice a month maybe. There’s a club closer to home but I prefer this one. The music’s better, and the atmosphere.”

Abby noticed a woman approaching their table, a tall, striking black woman with short black hair and huge brown eyes. Marcus noticed her too, and a broad smile appeared on his face. He stood.

“Indra,” he said, putting a hand on the woman’s arm and leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Hello, old friend. Long time no see.”

“Yes, I’ve been busy.”

Indra turned a cool gaze on Abby, who stood next to Marcus.

“This is Abby,” said Marcus. “Abby, this is Indra; she owns the club.”

“Nice to meet you.” Abby held out her hand and Indra shook it loosely.

“Abby...” she said, and Abby could see her searching her memory for what made her familiar. She was getting used to this look. “Aah,” said Indra, having realised who Abby was.

“Abby’s my friend,” said Marcus. “I’ve recently introduced her to jazz.”

Indra nodded. “Welcome to Arkadia, Abby.” She turned to Marcus, put a hand on his arm, leaned in close. “Can we look forward to a turn from you tonight, Marcus?” She was practically purring in his ear, speaking much more softly than she had in the few words she’d spoken to Abby.

“Oh, no, not tonight,” replied Marcus, glancing at Abby.

“Pity. I’m sure Abby would love to hear you.”

Marcus shot Indra a narrow-eyed look of annoyance.

“Hear you?” said Abby, her interest piqued.

“Marcus sings sometimes when he’s here; don’t you?” Indra’s smile was mischievous, and Abby could see tension in Marcus’s shoulders.

“When the mood takes me,” he muttered.

“Let’s hope you get in the mood later; I’ve missed your voice.” Indra kissed Marcus’s cheek, her ruby red lips lingering there. Abby felt a pang of something she didn’t want to put a name to. They seemed close, intimate. She’d thought he was only like that with her, and now...

“You know Indra well?” she said when the woman had gone and they’d retaken their seats.

“Not terribly,” said Marcus.

“Oh. You seemed... close.”

He looked at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “Are you jealous?”

“No!” replied Abby, a little too vehemently.

“Relax. She likes to cause trouble, stir the pot.”

“I see.” Abby waited until Marcus was sitting back in his seat, looking relaxed, before she asked the question that was burning a hole in her brain. “So, you sing here?” she said, gratified to see his eyes close briefly and a sigh escape his lips.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he said.

“Oh, come on, Marcus. It’s my birthday.”

“So?”

“So, a girl should get whatever she wants on her birthday.” She raised her eyebrows at him in challenge.

“God,” he said, drawing out the word on a long sigh, and she knew he’d given in.

They settled into their seats, and talked about his uncle Frank’s gangster days, which Marcus had told her about a few days before, and that led to a conversation about old New York and prohibition and clubs like this. Marcus was knowledgeable, passionate about his subject.

“You could have been a historian in another life,” said Abby. “The History of New York.”

“I was thinking about that the other day, actually, when I was at Frank and Marie’s. What would I have been if we’d never left Brooklyn?”

“A baseball player, maybe.”

“With my Bambi legs?” He grinned at her.

“Jazz musician, then.”

“Hmm, maybe.”

“Do you play an instrument?”

“I’ve dabbled in piano, although I’m not very good. It’s my dream one day to have a baby grand.”

Abby was certainly learning some interesting things about Marcus tonight. Singer, pianist. “You could probably fit one in your apartment!”

“The acoustics aren’t right. Do you play?”

“No. I was a dancer; I think maybe I said.”

“A ballerina, yes. You said you only dance around your living room.”

“Yes.” Abby was surprised he’d remembered that.

“You’ll have to dance for me one day.”

“You just want to see me in a tutu.”

Marcus laughed as he was taking a drink and had to cough. “I can’t deny that’s an attractive thought. What’s your favourite ballet?”

“The Nutcracker,” said Abby with a huge grin.

Marcus’s face was suffused with amusement at her joke. “I am NOT surprised.”

A three-piece band arrived on stage, double bass player, drummer and pianist, and syncopated jazz music filled the room.

“Would you like another drink?” said Marcus.

“I’d love one.” Abby reached for her purse, but Marcus put his hand on hers to stop her.

“Tonight’s my treat.”

“Thank you.”

He returned a minute later with their drinks and a bowl of roasted cashew nuts and pulled his chair closer to Abby’s so he could talk to her over the noise of the music.

“What do you think of the band?” he said, his lips brushing her ear, causing shivers to ripple through Abby’s body.

She turned so she could answer him, let her own lips graze his ear as he had done to her. She heard him take a sharp breath, and her own breathing increased. “I think they’re wonderful,” she murmured.

They passed an hour or maybe more like that, listening to the music, talking. They were unnoticed in their dark corner of the club with only a dim red light illuminating them.

“I haven’t seen that ring before,” said Abby when Marcus lifted his glass to take a sip.

He put his hand on the table to display the ring. Abby put her finger on it, traced the edges of the stone and the fine lines in the shape of a diamond that were etched into it.

“It was my father’s. My mom gave it to him on their wedding day.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

He hooked his thumb over Abby’s finger where it rested on the ring. She didn’t move her hand away and he stroked her finger with his thumb. It felt good, and her heartrate picked up. It took little effort at all to turn her hand so that her fingers entwined with his. Neither spoke nor acknowledged the fact that they were now effectively holding hands. Abby picked up her drink with her free hand, took a sip.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in here, you know,” said Marcus, turning his dark gaze on her.

“Thank you. I scrub up well,” said Abby, warmed by his compliment. The band started playing again, and Marcus’s reply was lost to her. “What did you say?” she said loudly.

He leaned in close, whispered in her ear. “You always look lovely.”

Abby turned her head, and he was still so close, and his lips were right there, and she looked at them and leaned towards them, and he leaned towards her, and...

“Marcus, you’re up next.” Indra’s voice intruded on them, and they jumped apart.

“Thanks, Indra,” said Marcus in a rough voice.

Abby’s heart was racing at the thought of their almost kiss. What were they doing? What were they playing at? Flirting with each other, touching each other. There was no way this could end well, and yet she couldn’t help herself, she knew she wouldn’t help herself if the opportunity came again. She wanted to kiss him, to feel his lips on hers, his fingers in her hair. Her whole body hummed with the desire to touch him like that.

“Be kind to me,” said Marcus as he stood. He bent and pressed a kiss to Abby’s head, then headed towards the stage.

The band ended their current piece, and Indra stood on the stage. “Welcome to Thursday night at Arkadia. This is the night when we let loose, when anything goes. We tear up the rule book, not that we ever used it in the first place.” She ran a mischievous gaze over the audience, who laughed and clapped. “Tonight, we have one of our own gracing us with his presence. Regulars will know him as the man who can get anyone off.” There were peals of laughter from the audience at her joke. Marcus, who was standing at the side of the stage, glanced at Abby. She held her drink up towards him, and he hung his head as though he was mortified, although she thought he was smiling.

“I’m talking about getting off a criminal charge. You all have filthy minds. Attorney by day, nobody wants to know what he does by night. I give you, Mr Marcus Kane!”

Marcus walked onto the stage, kissed Indra’s cheek again. “Thank you for those interesting words, Indra.” He turned to the musicians as Indra left the stage, muttered something to them, and then they nodded, and he turned back to the audience. “This one is about New York, for a Boston girl.”

Abby was glad she was sitting in a dark corner so no one could see her face which had warmed to the point where she knew she was bright red. On second thoughts, maybe she could be seen in the dark.

Marcus sang a song about Manhattan accompanied by the piano and the rhythmic bass and the soft snare of the drums. His voice was deep and low but lyrical. She’d had a taste of it when he’d been trying to remember the Stevie Wonder song, but that was nothing compared to this. She watched him singing into the microphone, tapping out the rhythm with his feet, his hair flopping into his eye as he found his stride. God, he was sexy, there was no other word for it. Whoever would have guessed that annoying, overbearing, arrogant man she’d fought against for so long would be like this?

He sang about the city and the dreams of a boy and girl, and he only glanced in her direction once. She sat transfixed, every nerve in her body on fire. What was going to happen when he came back? What was she going to say? What were they going to do? She wasn’t ready in her mind for what her heart and body wanted to do, but she couldn’t say right now while he was singing a song for her, which part of her would win out.

“No, just the one tonight,” Marcus said as the audience clapped and shouted for more.

Abby watched as he headed towards her, pushing his hair from his eyes. He’d taken off his jacket and it was slung over his shoulder. God, she was not going to survive this. She stood to greet him.

“Hey,” he said.

“Wow!” she replied. “I hardly know what to say. You were amazing.”

“Thanks. Will you come with me?” he said, his voice gruff from belting out the song. He held out his hand to her, and Abby hesitated before taking it. Her pulse was racing out of control now. She didn’t know what he wanted, but she was compelled to find out.

He led her past the bar and through a door into a small anteroom. He flung his jacket onto a table, then turned to face her. His eyes were almost black, the pupils huge. He reached out, stroked the side of her face, running his fingers over her cheek, down to her lips. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, and Abby sighed at the softness of his touch. He leaned towards her.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmured.

Abby put her hand on the side of his face like he had done to her, curled her fingers into his hair and brought his lips to hers. He moaned at the contact, wrapped an arm around her like he’d done earlier and held her to him. She snaked her arms around his neck and kissed him harder. He moaned again, opening his mouth, and his tongue sought hers. He was oak-smoked, like the bourbon. His other hand stroked her hair, pressing her gently to him so he could deepen the kiss further. She could feel his desire, which matched her own.

“God,” he said when they took a breath. “That was some kiss.”

“I guess it’s been building a while,” said Abby, curling one of his waves in her fingers.

“Yeah.” He kissed her lips again, then moved to her neck, which she bared to his nips and the soft presses of his tongue.

Her breathing was out of control, loud in the small room. He kissed her throat, moved to the other side, continued his ministrations. Abby was pressed up against the table, and she half sat on it while Marcus leaned over her, kissing every part of her bare flesh. They were getting close to a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

\---

Kane was holding onto his control by his fingertips. His desire for Abby had been building for weeks and had culminated tonight into an overwhelming urge to finally express it. He had thought since Ithaca that she felt the same for him as he did for her, and they’d been skirting the edges of it for weeks with their casual touches and foot rubs and conversations that went long into the night. Tonight, he’d thought she was ready to take it further with her whispering lips that brushed his ear like a feather kiss and her fingers entwined in his. He’d known as he was singing that he had to take the risk, make a move. They shouldn’t be doing it, but he couldn’t help himself. The way she looked, the way she smelled, her warm, dark eyes, her throaty laugh, the heat of her body next to his, all combined to make her irresistible. And she had kissed him in the end, taking the lead, taking control.

Her lips were soft and plump, her kisses deep and smoky. She smelt of whisky and sunshine and it was a heady combination. The skin of her throat was delicate and inviting and he was kissing as much of it as he could. She leant back against the table and he went lower, pressing his lips to the firm swell of her breasts. God, how he’d dreamt of this moment. She moaned softly and he was encouraged to go lower. He rained kisses in the valley of her breasts where the necklace he’d given her lay. It turned him on even more to see it against her pale skin. Her hands were tangled in his hair, holding him in place, and he was tempted to pull her dress to one side, expose a nipple to his eager mouth.

Her breaths were loud and heavy, matching his, and it would be so easy to take this further, to make love to each other here and now on the table in this back room of the club, but that was not what he wanted. Not now. Not like this. He left her breasts with great reluctance, moved back to her face, captured her lips again, kissing her deeply, then breaking away.

He stood back, and they looked at each other. She was devastatingly lovely with her lips swollen from their kisses, and her chest flushed and her eyes dark and drowsy with desire. He ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair. His body was throbbing with desire, with the urge to finish what they’d started, but he took deep breaths to control himself.

“What are we going to do?” whispered Abby.

“I don’t know.”

She stood straighter, adjusted the bodice of her dress. “I love what we have,” she said.

“So do I,” replied Kane. “But I kind of love this too.” He smiled weakly, and she returned his look.

“I’m going to jail,” she said, her shoulders slumping.

“No, you’re not. I’m not letting that happen.” Kane pulled her to him, wrapped his arms tight around her. Her arms slid around him; her hands pressed against his back. He kissed her hair. “I won’t let that happen,” he whispered again.

She squeezed him tighter. “I know you’ll try,” she said in a quiet voice.

Kane didn’t answer, because they both knew there were no certainties and Abby wasn’t going to be comforted by false promises. She squeezed him one more time then stood back.

“If we take this further it will be too painful should the worst happen,” she said, regaining some composure.

It was going to be painful anyway, thought Kane, because he’d already fallen completely in love with her and there was no going back from that. It was done.

“I understand that,” he said, “but I don’t think I can just be attorney/client. I don’t want to lose our closeness. I want to be able to touch you and hug you and all the things we have been doing. I need that.”

Abby nodded. “I need that too.” She grasped his hand. “I still want this.” She brought it to her lips and kissed it softly.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” said Kane. “We’ll take it slowly. Glaciers will move faster than us.”

Abby smiled. “Tortoises will move faster.”

“Snails will overtake us.”

Her laugh made him feel better. He stroked the side of her face, cupped her chin and brought her lips to his, kissing her softly. “Can we still do this?” he murmured.

“Yes, but very slowly.” She flung her arms around him and they kissed again. It was a sweet kiss, warm and tender.

“We’d better get back,” said Kane when they parted.

“Indra will be missing you.” Abby gave him a mischievous look.

“All my fans will be,” he said, smirking, then he picked up his jacket and took her hand. They walked back to their seats, unnoticed by their fellow clubgoers.

Kane got them another drink, and they sat side by side, holding hands beneath the table. It was like being a teenager again, not that he’d been particularly successful with women back then and could only have dreamed of having someone like Abby by his side. It was exciting in a strange way, because he had the benefits of a caring relationship with the anticipation of what might be, the thrill of the unknown. He had no doubts that he and Abby were in this for the long haul. If you were going to be together forever, then a few months of waiting weren’t going to make much difference. It was only a matter of time, and he had more motivation, not that he really needed it, to do everything in his power to prove her innocence, keep her free.

It was late when they got to her townhouse, and they sat in the back of the car with the privacy shield up and kissed until they were both breathless. One last time like this, and then they would switch to something less hot, something that wouldn’t leave his whole body aching for more.

“Thank you for tonight,” said Abby. “Thank you for my necklace and the song and everything. It’s been wonderful.”

“You’re welcome. I had a great time.”

“Me too.” She smiled, brushed a curl from his eye and kissed him softly on the lips. “Night, Marcus.”

“Night, Abby.”

She opened the door and got out of the car. Kane wound down the window so he could watch her until she was safely in her house. He sat back in his seat with a sigh, pushed the button to lower the privacy shield.

“Home, I guess,” he said to the driver. The driver’s eyes locked with his in the rear-view mirror.

“You’re a stronger man than me,” he said.

“Just drive,” said Kane. He was satisfied with how the night had gone; well satisfied was probably the wrong word, because he was far from that, but he was happy. He and Abby were full of promise, and one day they would be spectacular together; he knew it.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane visits Emerson in jail then spends the evening with Abby

A week after Abby’s birthday, Kane drove twenty-five miles north to Sing Sing Correctional Facility. He’d finally received permission from the Governor to interview Emerson. He took Sinclair with him, and on the way they shared information about Frank’s past with the mob. Sinclair confirmed that Frank had done more than just drive for Romano and told Kane a few hair-raising tales about the men he’d beaten up. He’d been hauled before the police more than once, but every time the charges had been dropped.

“Someone in the police force, probably pretty high up, was clearly in the pay of the mob,” said Sinclair.

“I’m wondering if that’s the case now as well,” said Kane. “Someone is buying all this bullshit about Abby too easily. Her boss, Pike, for instance.”

“I can look into him as well for you, if you want.”

“Yes. Let’s look at the whole damn lot of ‘em.” Kane turned off Route 9 and into the small town of Ossining. “Did the name Dante Wallace come up in your investigations?”

“Abby’s father?”

“Stepfather, yes.” 

“Only through legitimate business connections with Romano; at least they seemed legit.”

“I think Wallace has something on Romano. I think he has something on a lot of people. Pike for instance, and someone in the Police Commissioner’s office.” Kane turned down the narrow road towards the jail, the Hudson River shimmering ahead.

“You think he’s pulling the strings in all this? Abby’s stepfather?” Kane could see Sinclair’s incredulous face out of the corner of his eye.

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“God! Does she have any idea?”

Kane pulled into a visitor parking space. He turned to look at Sinclair. “No, and I don’t want her to know until I’m sure.”

“I think you should prepare her, Marcus.”

Kane shook his head. “I don’t want her upset unnecessarily. Besides, if I’m right, Wallace is responsible for a lot more than framing her.”

“Such as?”

Kane eyed Sinclair, the only man he could call a friend in this whole world. He trusted him, but what he wanted to say was huge, and made him nervous. It was one thing to think it, quite another to say it out loud. “I think he killed her father or had him killed.”

Sinclair stared at him unblinking. “Fuck!”

“I don’t want her to know any of this until I’m one hundred percent certain. It will devastate her.”

Sinclair looked closely at Kane. “Why do you care if it devastates her? If it helps her defence, she should know.”

“She was very close to her father, and she loves her mother. I don’t want to do anything to destroy her memories unless I have to.”

“Oh, my God!” said Sinclair.

“What?”

“You’re in love with her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You are! Christ, Marcus. She’s your client!”

“You think I don’t know that,” said Kane, relieved in a strange way that someone else knew about his feelings for Abby, someone outside of his family.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Nothing is going on, and I don’t know, a month or so maybe.”

“Are you, you know...?”

“We’re just good friends.”

“Friends with benefits.”

“No. It’s not like that.”

Sinclair shook his head. “ADA Griffin! What’s she like?”

“A beautiful soul,” said Kane. “Shall we go and get on with our job?”

Sinclair raised his eyebrows at Kane but exited the car without saying anything more.

Half an hour later and they were sitting in an interview room waiting for Emerson. The man arrived flanked by prison guards. He was forced into a seat opposite Kane and Sinclair, handcuffed to the table. Kane eyed him, trying to take him all in. He had short, dirty blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He stared straight at Kane; his mouth set in a smirk.

“I’m Marcus Kane, and this is Jacapo Sinclair. We’re defence attorneys hired by Dante Wallace to represent his stepdaughter, ADA Abigail Griffin. I believe you know Mr Wallace?” He watched Emerson throughout his speech, looking for any hint of recognition at the names Kane threw out.

“What do you want?” said Emerson, ignoring Kane’s question.

“I want to talk to you about your case, the reason you’re in here.”

Emerson sat back, his chains jangling. “I’m innocent. I was fitted up.”

“I’ve read the ADA’s case file. She had strong evidence against you, hence your conviction.”

“You mean like the evidence that’s against her.” Emerson looked smugly at Kane.

Kane’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, so you know about that?”

“Everyone knows about it. She’s put a lot of people in here; it’s the talk of the jail.”

“Are you implying that the evidence against the ADA is unreliable?” said Sinclair.

“I’m saying that not everything is what it seems.”

“I’ve investigated the ADA,” said Kane, “and I can’t find a good reason why someone would want to frame her. Why do you think someone would do that?”

“Maybe she poked her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. That’s usually how these things go.”

“Is that what happened to you? Is that why you’re being framed, as you claim, because you’ve certainly been held out to dry by whoever’s pulling the strings of your organisation.” Kane opened a file, took out a charge sheet related to Emerson’s case. “This is a long list of charges, and only two people convicted. You’ve been made a scapegoat.”

Emerson shrugged. Kane looked at him, and the man looked back, his gaze challenging. Did he want to talk? Kane wasn’t sure, but he’d certainly already said more than Kane had thought he would.

“There’s a deal to be done, if you want to talk,” said Kane.

“You have no authority to be offering deals.”

Kane decided to take a gamble that would work in his favour either way, either by giving him the information he needed, or confirming to him what he thought he already knew.

“I’m well connected. As I said earlier, I’ve been hired by Dante Wallace. He’s a prominent businessman in New York and Boston, friends with the Governors of both states. As my client he receives all my reports. I’m sure if he knew you’d been cooperative and helped his stepdaughter, he’d ensure you were rewarded one way or another.”

Kane’s eyes never left Emerson’s face. The man twitched, not at the mention of Wallace, but when Kane said he would be reading the reports. He leaned forward so that he was closer to Emerson and spoke in a softer voice. “Of course, I don’t have to put everything in my reports, not if that might cause you problems.”

Emerson shook his head slowly. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“Then tell me, and I’ll get you out of here, away from all this.”

Emerson leaned closer to Kane and spoke in a whisper. “Do you think a man who might, say, hypothetically, sacrifice the people closest to him, is going to let someone like me go scot free? You’re an idiot.”

Kane’s heart was thumping in his chest now. “Are you saying, hypothetically, that Wallace is responsible for what is happening to ADA Griffin?”

“I’m saying nothing of the sort.” Emerson looked around at the guards who were standing at the rear of the room. “I’m ready to go back now.”

The guards came forward, removed the cuffs from the table and dragged Emerson to his feet.

“A man who can sacrifice his own family probably doesn’t like to leave loose ends,” said Kane as Emerson was led from the room. The man looked back, smiled and shrugged, and then was gone.

Kane waited until he was back in the car with Sinclair before speaking.

“What did you make of that?”

“I got the feeling he wanted you to know but didn’t want to tell you.”

“Yes, I felt the same. He could have said nothing or just denied everything, but he dropped hints about Abby being framed, and about Wallace.”

“Yes. I think you’re right about him. Is he really the lynchpin though of a mob-style organisation? Abby’s stepfather! It seems crazy.”

“He was friends with Luca Romano, probably learned it all from him.”

“Emerson said Abby maybe poked her nose into something. Do you have any idea what?”

“She didn’t find anything in her review of Emerson’s case file.”

“Maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe it was something she found out about Wallace, but she doesn’t realise what it means.”

“Like what, though?”

Sinclair shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her.”

Kane put the car into drive, headed back up the road. “I told you, I’m not telling her any of this until I’m sure.”

“If she’s the key, then you’ll have no choice.”

Kane grimaced. “Not yet. We need to find a weaker link than Emerson. Abby said Pike had been in a bad mood for a while before her arrest. Make him your priority. I want to know everything about him down to what colour underpants he has on. Wallace must have something on him, and we need to find out what it is.”

\---

At home that night and Kane was waiting for both the takeout food and Abby to arrive. He’d just finished changing out of his suit into black jeans and a thin grey sweater when the buzzer sounded. He rushed to answer it. It was Abby.

“Come up,” he said, buzzing her in. He waited for the elevator to arrive and she appeared a few moments later, a white paper bag in hand.

“I bumped into the delivery guy,” she said, holding it out to him.

“Great timing,” said Kane. He kissed her cheek, and she put an arm around him, and they ended up in a half hug with the paper bag hanging out to the side. “I missed you,” he said.

“I missed you too.” She kissed his lips briefly. “I also miss dinner. I’m starving!” She went ahead of him into the apartment, put the bag on the kitchen counter.

“Beer?” said Kane, opening the fridge.

“Definitely.”

Kane pulled two beers from the fridge while Abby got the cartons out of the bag.

“Table or sofa?” she said.

“Sofa, I think.”

Abby took the cartons to the sofa and Kane followed with the beers and napkins. They sat side by side, the food arrayed in front of them. She was wearing the necklace he’d bought her as she did all the time now, and it dangled in the air as she leaned forward, nosing into the boxes.

“Ooh, wontons,” she said.

“Sweet and sour sauce,” said Kane, opening one of the pots.

“Lovely.” Abby dipped her wonton in the sauce, put the whole thing into her mouth. She chewed it and managed to smile at Kane at the same time.

“Your capacity for stuffing food in your mouth is astounding,” said Kane.

“I don’t like it to go cold,” she said when she’d finished chewing.

“There’s no chance of that!”

“You’re just worried I’ll eat your share.”

“You can try.”

Abby picked up another wonton with her chopsticks, dipped it into the sauce and offered it to Kane. He was instantly suspicious and didn’t move for a moment. She waved it in front of him, trying to tempt him to eat it. He knew the moment he moved towards it she’d pull it away, so he waited, waited, and then he pounced, grabbing her wrist and pulling it towards him, managing to get a bite out of it before she got away from him. She laughed and ate the rest of it herself.

“You’re quick, but not quick enough,” she said.

“It’s okay. I’ll just have all the chicken to myself.” He picked up the carton with the sweet and sour chicken and stood on the sofa, the carton in the air. Abby tried to reach it but he was so much taller than her he barely had to lift it above his head. He dipped his chopsticks in, pulled out a large piece of chicken and ate it.

“Mmm,” he said.

Abby tried to tickle him to get him to lower the carton, but Kane remained unmoved.

“Not ticklish, remember,” he said with a smirk.

“Damn.” She flopped onto the sofa, giving up, and Kane sat back next to her. He offered the carton to her, and she picked out a piece of chicken. “You’re a bastard,” she said.

“You started it!”

After dinner Kane sat in the corner of the sofa with Abby stretched out next to him, her head resting against his chest. He put his arm around her holding her to him. They’d fallen naturally into this form of closeness since their conversation on her birthday.

“I had a bitch of a day today,” she said.

“How come?”

“My client, Bellamy, got arrested again.”

“What for this time?”

“Theft with aggravated assault.”

“Oh, that’s a felony, Abby.”

“I know! It wasn’t intentional. The police officer arresting him was aggressive and he was only defending himself.”

“Is there proof of this?”

“I’m trying to get the CCTV from the bodega and the surrounding streets.”

“What was he stealing?”

“Food again. He has a four-year-old daughter, Madi. His wife died last year and he can’t get a job or afford child care and it’s just one thing after another. He’s kind of in a spiral now.”

“Is he in jail?”

“No, I managed to get him bail based on him being the sole carer for Madi but it’s tenuous. One more misstep and he’ll be inside for good.”

“Hmm,” said Kane. He stroked Abby’s arm distractedly.

“What are you thinking?”

“Who was the arresting officer?”

“Some guy called John Stevens from the Fifth Precinct.”

“Have you looked into him?”

“No.”

“Might be worth checking him out, see if he has a history of aggressive arrests. Is Bellamy African American?”

“He’s Filipino.”

“I’d check him out if I were you.”

“We don’t have the resources.” Abby leant her head back, looked up at him with big, wide eyes. Kane rolled his eyes. “You want me to look into this Stevens?”

“It would be a drop in the ocean for your firm.”

“What do I get in return?”

“My undying gratitude.”

“Hmm. I might want something more than that.” He slipped lower on the sofa so that Abby was lying next to him. He turned towards her, put his arms around her and leaned in.

“Such as?” she whispered.

“Such as a kiss. Just a small one.”

“I suppose it’s not too much to ask.” She lifted her head so he could capture her lips. They kissed softly, slowly, just enjoying the taste and the feel of each other.

“That was nice,” said Kane when they parted.

“Yes.” She smiled up at him, and it made his heart swell. He didn’t want to have to burst this bubble by bringing up her case and telling her about his visit to see Emerson today, but he had to. She knew he’d made the appointment. He’d thought long and hard about how much he could tell her without having to lie to her, and the answer was virtually nothing. He also had to find a way to tease out of her what she didn’t know she knew, without her realising what he was doing, and that was going to be the hardest thing of all.

He hated this; hated that they were starting this relationship on such an unequal footing, where he knew things she didn’t. It never would have bothered him with any regular client; he only ever told them what they needed to know and thought nothing of keeping things from them when required. This was Abby, and she was lying in his arms and she cared for him and trusted him. He’d promised never to lie to her, to tell her the truth no matter what but he loved her, and he didn’t want to break her heart. God, it was impossible!

“I went up to Sing Sing today,” he said, stroking her arm. She looked up at him.

“Oh, yes. I forgot it was today. Sorry, I was so caught up with the Bellamy situation. How did it go?”

“He claimed he was framed.”

“Three months ago I’d have laughed at that. Now...”

“Yeah.” Kane pressed a soft kiss to her head. “Your evidence was robust, though?”

“I thought it was, and my review of the file hasn’t changed my mind.”

“Was Pike the only one who didn’t want you to pursue the case?”

“There were a few people, some on the police side, a couple of detectives, the lieutenant. Even my stepfather warned me against it.”

Kane almost paused in his stroking of her arm but managed to gather himself. “Wallace asked you not to pursue the case against Emerson?”

“He asked me to think carefully about it. He was concerned for me, I guess, because of the types of people involved. Looks like he was right to worry.” She laughed softly.

“What about your mom, did she have a say?”

“She was encouraging.”

So Elizabeth was as unaware as her daughter of the true nature of her husband. That was one positive.

“Emerson hinted at a conspiracy, one that involved a lot of well-connected people,” said Kane, deciding to tell Abby as much of the truth as he could. After all, his suspicions about her stepfather were exactly that. He still had no proof, and there was the slight chance he was wrong, although his gut didn’t think so.

Abby sat up, turned to face Kane with her legs crossed beneath her. “Did he give any hint as to who was involved?”

“No, but I’ve got Sinclair investigating Pike.” Kane watched Abby closely to see how she’d react to this news. Her eyes widened, and then she frowned, and nodded.

“Something’s not right there. He was told to arrest me in that way, and he never questioned me or the evidence.”

“He’s having his strings pulled. Someone has the goods on him. Any hint of scandal during the time you’ve known him?”

Abby stared into the distance as she tried to recall. “No. I’d say he’s typical for our profession. Can’t hold down a relationship; I know his wife left him five or six years ago because he’s a workaholic. Most of his life revolves around work. He’s big into schmoozing those above him, though. I had to attend one of these charity dinners a couple of years ago and he seemed friendly with the Commissioner.”

“The Commissioner would have the authority to tell Pike exactly what to do.”

“Why would the Police Commissioner want me arrested? Why would he want Rafael dead?”

“Rafael was a loose end; I’m sure about that. He was meant to seduce you and bring a sexual harassment suit against you and end your career. That would get you conveniently out of the way, but you didn’t do what they wanted. You didn’t sleep with him.”

“So, when I prosecuted two of their guys, it was obvious I couldn’t be bought or persuaded, and they wanted to get rid of me.”

“Yes. They probably wanted to have an ADA in place who they could control, and that’s definitely not you.” Kane smiled, and Abby half smiled back.

“They could have just killed me. If they were willing to kill Rafael, why didn’t they just kill me? Car accident, overdose, accidental shooting. There’s any number of ways.”

Therein lay the question, and that was why Dante Wallace was at the top of this whole conspiracy in Kane’s book. He wanted rid of Abby, but for some reason, loyalty to her mother, guilt about her father, or just because he actually did love her, who knows, he didn’t want to kill her. In his own sick way he was protecting her.

“Maybe you’re too well-connected. It’s one thing killing an assistant; it’s another murdering an ADA. It would bring a lot of unwelcome heat down on them. This way they get rid of two birds with one stone.”

“Yeah,” said Abby. She lay back down, snuggled into Kane’s arms. “Let’s talk about something else now.”

Kane stroked her hair rhythmically. He found it soothing, almost hypnotic sometimes. “I was thinking, maybe we should take a proper break at Christmas. We could go up to Ithaca, spend a few days with my mom.”

Abby looked up at him. “Really, Marcus?”

“If you’d like.”

“I would, yes. Oh, that would be great.” She put her arm over him, squeezed him.

“You’ll need different wellies. It will be heavy snow and those boots you have will get ruined.”

“I don’t mind that.”

“Trust me. If you’re tramping out feeding Flora every day you’ll need some working wellies. I’ll get some for you.”

“Are we doing presents?”

“Yes, but a hundred-dollar limit so you have to be creative.”

“Oh, I can’t wait now. Something to look forward to.” She kissed his lips, then laid her head back down on his chest.

Kane continued stroking her hair. What a difference the last month had made. He hadn’t wanted to take her last time, was worried what she’d think about him and his past. Now, he couldn’t wait to go back, spend time with her, and his mom. The house had taken on a special meaning because it was where they’d connected, where they’d realised their feelings for each other, tentative then, still tentative now to an extent. Their relationship had an indefinable quality to it, more than friends, but not yet lovers. It would be hard for outsiders to understand, but Kane found it comforting, warm and loving, and it made him happy.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby goes Christmas shopping, and both she and Kane receive interesting phone calls.

The days leading up to Christmas were manic for Abby. The security firm had been in her house fitting a state-of-the-art security system, a job which was overseen by Marcus’s assistant, Harper, so Abby thankfully hadn’t had to stay at home all the time. She’d put all her efforts into her Legal Aid cases, trusting her own situation to Marcus and his team.

She’d received two more letters before the new system was in place, both hand-delivered, and felt more comfortable now that she had better quality security. The system was connected to her cell phone and to Marcus’s so they could both monitor any activity. She hadn’t received any texts in a couple of weeks, which she’d been grateful for at first, but then she’d wondered if that meant the letters would increase, representing an escalation in the pattern of behaviour.

If, as Marcus believed, her current situation was as a result of her getting in the way of a web of corruption within the criminal justice system, she couldn’t see where the letters and the texts fitted in. They seemed less sophisticated. If they’d stayed as texts she would have dismissed them; it was only the appearance of the letters that gave her pause. She put them to the back of her mind, because in a few days she’d be in Ithaca with Marcus and none of this would matter.

It was the Friday before their trip, and she was browsing a market in Little Italy. Marcus had set her a hundred-dollar challenge to find him a present and she’d included Vera in her quest as well. It had seemed an easy challenge at first, taking away any urge to spend big and impress, but the longer she’d thought about it, the harder it seemed. To spend so little meant the gift had to have a lot of meaning. Whatever she chose was going to tell Marcus a lot about what she thought of him or test her understanding of his likes and dislikes. They’d got to know each other well over the last couple of months, but there were still huge gaps in her knowledge about him.

She found an antique large serving plate, hand painted in a traditional style, that would be perfect for Vera. It had a blue pattern along one edge that reminded Abby of the folded wings of butterflies, but the focal point of the dish was a tumbling vine of fat, juicy lemons. The vendor wanted a hundred and twenty dollars for it, but Abby negotiated him down to ninety. She was waiting for it to be wrapped when her phone rang. It was her mom.

“Hi, mom,” she said as the vendor handed her the plate and she put it into her bag.

“Hello, darling. Sorry it’s taken me a while to return your call. You know what it’s like this time of year.”

“I do. Don’t worry.” Abby moved through the market, checking out every stall. What the hell was she going to get for Marcus?

“How have you been dear?”

“I’ve been fine. Good, actually.”

“Oh, that’s good to hear. Did you want anything in particular when you called?”

“No. I just wanted to chat.”

“Oh. Well, I was thinking, darling, about Christmas.”

“Oh, yes?” Abby moved away from the stalls to a quieter area where she could hear her mother better.

“I know you can’t come to us for obvious reasons, but I don’t like to think of you on your own. We have our annual party on the day itself, and I can’t get out of that, but if you like, Dante and I will come and visit you the day after. We can go out to dinner or whatever you want, darling.”

Abby grimaced. For the first time in her life she’d been glad of her often distant relationship with her mother, hoping to get away with not having to reveal her Christmas plans. Trust her mom to choose now to become interested in her life.

“Erm, that’s lovely, mom, but I already have plans for Christmas.”

Elizabeth’s surprise was obvious in her voice. “Oh?”

“Yes.” Abby didn’t elaborate in the hope her mom wouldn’t pry.

“What are you doing, darling?”

Abby hesitated. She knew that the truth sounded odd, because it was. It wasn’t normal for a client to spend Christmas with her attorney and his mother. “I’m, erm, I’m going to Ithaca.”

“Ithaca?” There was a silence while Elizabeth made the connection. “Isn’t that where Kane is from?”

“Yes, he was brought up there. I’m going to stay at his farmhouse.”

“With him?”

“He’ll be there, yes.”

“I see.” Elizabeth’s tone told Abby she didn’t see at all, or rather she didn’t like what she saw.

“It’s not like what you’re thinking,” said Abby.

“I hope it isn’t, because you’ve already shown poor judgement with men with that Rafael character. Marcus Kane is not the man for you, Abigail, and certainly not while he’s your attorney!”

“What’s that?”

Abby could hear her stepfather’s voice in the background.

“Abigail is spending Christmas with Kane,” said Elizabeth to Dante.

Abby sighed. This was exactly what she hadn’t wanted to happen.

“Abigail?” Dante’s voice appeared over the phone.

“Yes?” said Abby resignedly.

“What’s this about you and Kane?”

“There’s nothing about me and Kane. I’m merely spending the holidays with him and his mother. He kindly asked me, and I didn’t want to spend the time alone, so I said yes.”

“I don’t want you in a relationship with that man,” said Dante. “He’s no good.”

“He’s good enough to represent me,” said Abby who was starting to feel defensive because she didn’t like to be dictated to by anybody, and certainly not a man who wasn’t even her father.

“Because of his methods; because of who he is. That kind of man isn’t good enough for you.”

Abby softened a little at Dante’s words. He didn’t really know Marcus, and was thinking of her, trying to protect her, and that was sweet in its own way.

“I don’t exactly have a lot of friends in my corner, Dante. Kane is a better man than you think, and he’s been good to me. He’s offered me a place to stay and people to be with when I would otherwise be alone. I’m thankful to him.” She could hear Dante sucking on his lips while he pondered her words.

“It’s not professional of him to invite you to his home. He should maintain a distance at all times. I’m not happy about this.”

“We were in your home all the time. My dad was your best friend,” said Abby. “Where was the professional distance then?”

“That’s not the same thing,” said Dante in a quiet voice.

“Abigail.” Elizabeth’s voice took over. “I can understand that you’re lonely, and you’re spending a lot of time with Kane naturally as part of your case. It’s easy to confuse a professional relationship with something more.”

“I am not at all confused,” said Abby.

“Well, good,” replied Elizabeth.

“I’m thirty-eight years old, mom. I’m capable of making my own decisions, however disastrous they might turn out to be.”

“And you’ve done such a wonderful job of that recently!”

Elizabeth’s dismissive tone lit a fire in Abby.

“I don’t see why you think you have a right to tell me what to do. Where were you on my birthday? I got a card, but no phone call, no birthday wishes to your only child. You wait until four days before Christmas to inform me that you are deigning to spend some time with me, as though I’m sitting here all alone with nothing better to do than wait for you to remember that I exist. Do you know that Kane’s mother called me yesterday to ask me what my favourite meal is so she can cook it for me when I arrive? She barely knows me, and yet she was so thoughtful. When you start to really care about me in a meaningful way I will listen to your concerns. Until then, if I decide to run away with Kane to live a life of luxury in the Cayman Islands, I will do it. I wish you both a Merry Christmas. It would be nice to hear from you on Christmas day, but I’ll leave that decision to you.”

Abby cancelled the call, her heart racing. Had she gone too far? She’d let her anger get away with her. She was tempted to call her mom back, apologise for her behaviour, which was not how a Griffin should be. She was tired of being what they thought she should be, though, and constantly falling short of their expectations. She wanted to be happy, and to do what made her feel good for once in her life. Her mother didn’t call back or text, so Abby pocketed her phone and carried on browsing the stalls. She found the perfect thing for Marcus five minutes later and bought it with a smile on her face at the thought of his reaction.

\---

Kane spent all his awake time in the office in the run up to his Christmas break. He’d never taken more than Christmas Day off before, and even then he’d worked from home. He wanted to get ahead of everything so he could take the time off without feeling any guilt. It wasn’t as though the firm would collapse without him; he just liked to be in control and struggled leaving things entirely to other people. He’d thought that was one of his virtues, but now wondered if it was a flaw. He should give other people an opportunity, let them make their own mistakes. It wasn’t as though Ithaca was the middle of nowhere. The farm had a landline and he’d insisted his mother take advantage of a rural broadband initiative a few years ago. It worked reasonably well depending on the weather. He'd be reachable if necessary.

His cell phone buzzed from an unfamiliar number and he answered it distractedly.

“Marcus Kane.”

“Kane,” said a deep voice he recognised with shock. “Dante Wallace here.”

“Good afternoon, Mr Wallace,” said Kane, trying to figure out what the man could want. His latest report had been bland to the point of saying nothing. Maybe that was the reason for the call. Wallace was going to complain about his lack of progress. If only he knew!

“I believe you’re taking my stepdaughter to your farm for Christmas.” Wallace spat the word farm contemptuously.

Kane hadn’t been expecting this conversation and was taken aback momentarily. “Yes, that’s right.”

“It won’t be happening.”

Kane’s blood ran cold. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re her attorney and your only job is to get her off this charge. I am not paying you to seduce her.”

What the hell had happened for him to make a call like this? “I... Sir, Abby and I are friends that’s all.”

“No. You are not friends. You are not anything other than her lawyer. You won’t be spending time with her other than to discuss her case. Do I make myself clear?”

The man’s voice was so strident, so confident, it made the hairs on the back of Kane’s neck stand up. “Abby is an adult, Sir. She makes her own decisions about her life and her friends.”

“I’m paying your fee, and I don’t want you anywhere near her other than in a professional capacity.”

“Abby is my friend, and she is coming to my farmhouse to spend Christmas with me and my mother unless she tells me she no longer wants to. There is nothing more to say on the matter.” Kane could be equally as strident as Wallace and had no qualms about standing his ground. The man was ridiculous, thinking he could dictate what Abby did or order Kane around.

There was a tense silence for a moment. “I don’t think you want to go against my wishes,” said Wallace in a quiet, menacing voice.

“Are you threatening me? Look, Sir. I’m doing a good job in her defence, and any time we spend together outside of that has no bearing on the quality of work I do. You have no need to worry.” Kane said the last part because he feared this was about to escalate, and whilst he didn’t care for himself, he didn’t want to affect Abby or her relationship with her family.

“I can finish you and your firm. I’m sure you know I’m capable,” growled Wallace.

“I’m sure you’re capable of a lot of things, Sir; more than perhaps people realise.” Kane let that statement hang in the air for a moment. “However, I’m also sure you know that I’m not a man who is easily intimidated. If you wanted a lawyer like that you wouldn’t have hired me. Abby will make her own decisions and I will abide by them. That is the best I can give you.”

“You will regret this,” said Wallace.

“I doubt it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must get on. There’s a lot of paperwork to do before my break.”

Kane disconnected the call and sat back in his chair, his heart thumping. What the hell was all that about? Abby must have told them she was going to Ithaca with him and they clearly weren’t happy. For Wallace to call him directly though! What was with the threats? Were they really such snobs that they didn’t want her dating a man with a lowly background, or did Dante feel threatened by Kane personally? Was he concerned he’d get too close to Abby, sniff out some long-held family secret? It was decidedly odd whatever the reason.

He debated whether he should tell Abby. It was a stupid conversation to have had, and he didn’t want to embarrass her with the knowledge that her stepfather was threatening Kane as though he was the local bad boy with designs on his innocent daughter. On the other hand, the conversation had been far from amicable, and Wallace might try to spin things to put Kane in a bad light. He should get in front of it, let her know his side. He called up her number.

“Hey, you!” she said when she answered.

“Hey, you,” Kane said in reply, smiling like he always did at the sound of her voice.

“I wasn’t expecting you to call; I thought you were busy at work all day.”

“I am. I just... Well, I had a strange conversation and I figured I’d better tell you about it.”

“Oh? What was that?” Kane could hear tension rise in Abby’s voice.

“Your stepfather called me a moment ago.”

“Oh,” she said, and by the way she drew out the short word Kane knew she wasn’t going to be surprised by what he had to say.

“He doesn’t want us spending time together this Christmas.”

“Oh, my God!” said Abby, and Kane could picture her holding her head in despair. “I’m so sorry he called you! Jesus Christ.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not! They care nothing for me most of the time and then they treat me like a child!”

“That’s parents for you.”

“Gawd. This is... I’m so sorry.”

“Abby, there’s no need to be sorry. You’ve met my mom; I understand how these things go. I wouldn’t have even told you but, erm, well, the conversation wasn’t exactly friendly, and I thought you should know.”

“It wasn’t friendly? In what way?”

“He threatened me and the firm, and I may have been less than polite in return.”

“He threatened you? Fuck! I don’t believe this!”

“I’m not intimidated by him.”

She sighed heavily. “No. I know. But still... I hate that he has this influence over us.”

Her use of ‘us’ made Kane’s heart race for some reason. “He won’t follow through with his threat. There’s too much at stake.”

“He won’t get a chance to follow through. I’m going to do what I wanted to do a long time ago but you wouldn’t let me.”

“What’s that?” said Kane, although he thought he knew.

“I’m paying you myself. It’s me you’re defending. I got myself into this one way or another and it should be up to me to sort it out.”

“Abby, there’s no need for this. He’s just throwing his weight around. Now he knows I can’t be threatened he’ll go away.”

“I don’t care. This isn’t about him; it’s about me. I’m taking control of my life, Marcus. It’s time.”

Kane sat in his chair, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. She was right, but at the same time his fee was exorbitant, and it felt strange now that she was his friend to be paid to help her when he would do it for free. His staff couldn’t work for free, though.

“I’m formally requesting that you take me on as your client on the same terms as before,” continued Abby in a determined voice. “You can resign as his client or I can do it for you. Either way, this is between you and me now.”

Kane let out a long, slow breath. “Fine, but we’re renegotiating the contract. I may have loaded some of the costs knowing who he is and what he can afford. If it’s between you and me then I want it to be fair.” That statement was only partly true, and he doubted Abby would be fooled, but if she was the person he thought she was, she would recognise this as his compromise and accept it.

“If that’s what you want,” said Abby.

“It is.”

“Fine.”

Kane smiled at the stubbornness in her voice. “Good.”

“Now you have to do whatever I want,” said Abby, softer now.

“I’m at your command,” said Kane, holding the phone so his mouth was closer to the handset.

“I like the sound of that,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

Kane had to swallow because his mouth was suddenly dry. “What’s your first command?”

“Tell me what you got me for Christmas.”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Because you haven’t found anything yet.”

“Have you?”

“I found the perfect thing today as a matter of fact,” she said triumphantly.

“Can you get a Steinway for a hundred dollars?”

“One of the keys.”

Kane laughed. “I have got your gift, actually, but I’m not telling you anything about it.”

“Spoilsport.”

“The anticipation will make it all the sweeter,” he said.

“Let’s hope,” Abby said, her voice deep and husky.

“I guarantee it.”

“You’re confident.”

“Always.”

Kane’s pulse was throbbing with the flirtatiousness of their conversation. This was the best thing about taking things slowly, the teasing, the flirting, the anticipation, the getting to know each other. He’d never experienced these things properly. He’d flirted with women of course, but usually with a view to bedding them when he was younger or in the vein hope he’d have something in common with them when he was older. Nothing could match what he had with Abby.

“Presents aside, are you ready for Monday?” he said.

“Pretty much. I’ve got some work to finish tomorrow and then I’ll pack Sunday.”

“Mom said it’s been snowing hard, so don’t forget your flannel pyjamas.”

Abby’s throaty laugh vibrated in his ear. “You liked those did you?”

“They are what I’m most looking forward to.”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll wear them.”

“I’d be luckier if you didn’t wear them.”

Abby chuckled. “Hmm. Okay, well I’d better go. This phone call is costing me money now I’m your client.”

“I’m giving you a preferential rate.”

“I’m making a note of everything. I know what you lawyer types are like.”

“We only have your best interests at heart.”

“I’ve heard that before. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“I’ll pick you up at ten.”

“Looking forward to it. Bye, Marcus.”

“Bye, Abby.”

Kane put his phone on the table and sat back with a satisfied smile on his face. Was it a mistake to get tangled up financially? Possibly, but it was better than being beholden to Wallace. He wouldn’t have to send him reports any more, which was a good thing. Of course, he’d have to send them to Abby, and there were certain things he didn’t want her to know about. They’d have to be done off the books from now on. It would cost him personally, but it was worth it until he was ready to tell her the whole truth, whatever that was. In the meantime, there was Ithaca to look forward to, and Abby tramping around in her pyjamas and wellies. Kane let himself drift away with that image until he was jolted back to the present by his phone ringing.

“Your DUI is on the line,” said Harper. “He’s doing his amends or something, wants to thank you.”

Kane sighed. “Put him through.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane and Abby head to Ithaca for Christmas.

It was dark by the time they arrived in Ithaca. Even though they’d only stopped for brief comfort breaks, the snow had slowed their journey, and the closer they’d got the heavier it had come down until the last few miles had been driven in a tense silence with Kane peering intently over the wheel. He pulled up outside the farmhouse seven hours after they set off and let out a long sigh of relief as he sat back in his seat.

“You did a great job,” said Abby.

“It was hairy on some of those bends.”

“I understand the need for the Jeep now.”

“Yeah, it’s not just because it’s the only car that’s as good-looking as me.”

She laughed at his joke and then they leaned towards each other in some kind of unspoken coordination and shared a kiss. The porch light came on and they moved apart.

“Are you ready for my mom?” said Kane.

“Of course. I’m excited to be here.”

They exited the vehicle as Vera opened the front door and came out onto the porch. She was multi-layered and looked twice her size. Kane wondered just how cold it was in the house.

“Marcus, Abby! Oh, I’m so glad to see you.” She swept Abby into a hug while Kane got their bags from the Jeep and piled them on the porch together with a long item wrapped in brown paper that Abby refused to discuss.

“It’s lovely to see you, Vera. How have you been?”

The two women walked into the house arm in arm and Kane stood on the porch with three holdalls, two boot bags and the oddly shaped whatever. “I’ll get it!” he said to nobody. He left the boot bags in the hallway and made two trips up the stairs, depositing his one bag in his room and the other two and the whatever in Abby’s. His mom had made the room up nicely with the yellow quilt on the bed and a vase of white winter roses on the mantlepiece. The fire was hot, and Kane added more logs to keep it going.

He found Abby and Vera in the kitchen, sitting at the large farmhouse table nursing mugs of apple cider. A steaming mug had been set in his place, and he took a seat and wrapped his cold hands around it, sipping it carefully.

“Ah, this is just what I needed.”

“I’m so happy you’re both here,” said Vera, her warm smile lighting up her round face. “What a treat!”

“Thank you for having me. I hope we haven’t inconvenienced you,” said Abby.

Vera put her hand on Abby’s, squeezed it. “Of course not, love. I usually go to my friend’s but I’m more than happy to be here with you.”

Kane felt a twinge of guilt at his mother’s words. He hadn’t spent Christmas with her for he didn’t know how long, years probably. He never took the time off work and he’d never wanted to be with his mom if he was honest with himself. He couldn’t say they’d both missed out because he wasn’t the person then he is now and it wouldn’t have been a success. Having Abby here made all the difference.

“Something smells amazing,” he said to distract from his terrible history as a son.

“Dinner is ready whenever you want it. I’ve made Abby’s favourite.”

“Have you?” said Kane, surprised. He didn’t know what Abby’s favourite meal was beyond take out, but he wasn’t about to betray that ignorance. “Well, I’m ready. We haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“I fed you an entire packet of roasted cashews on the way up,” said Abby, indignantly.

“I used that energy concentrating on keeping us on the road.”

“Marcus has always had a good appetite,” said Vera as she went to the stove.

Abby raised her eyebrows at him and smiled. Kane returned the expression. They sat grinning at each other across the table until Vera set bowls of aromatic stew before them.

“I hope this is how your mother makes it, Abby dear.”

“My mother’s never made Irish stew in her life, or anything for that matter. I had an Irish nanny when I was young, and she made it all the time.” Abby ate a spoonful of the stew. “This is perfect.”

Vera beamed at Abby and at Kane. “That’s kind of you, dear.”

“I mean it. It’s just what I needed.”

Kane tasted the stew, which was a simple mixture of lamb, potatoes, carrots and onions flavoured with herbs. It was rich and meaty. “This is good, mom,” he said. He tore off a chunk of bread, dipped it into the sauce.

“Sometimes I think if I couldn’t cook, Marcus wouldn’t visit me at all,” said Vera.

“That’s not entirely true.”

“You do like your food, Marcus,” said Abby. “The first time I cooked for you, you said I’d made you a happy man.”

“You have.” Kane was talking about the various meals she’d made for him, but he saw a faint blush come to Abby’s cheeks at his words and it made him warm. He glanced at his mom, who was chewing on a piece of meat and looking at them both.

“I was thinking of going to see Flora after dinner,” said Abby, breaking the tension that was building up.

“She’s bedded down for the night now, it being winter, but you can see her in the morning, love. She’s yours to look after while you’re here,” said Vera.

“Thank you.”

“You’ll need your wellies if you’re going to venture out into the snow tomorrow. I’ll give them you after dinner,” said Kane.

“Are they my Christmas present?”

“No, they’re just a thanks for putting up with me and my mom present.”

“Marcus!” said Vera and Abby in unison.

Kane shrugged and grinned as he ate the rest of his stew.

After dinner Abby and Vera sat on the sofa in the parlour and Kane fetched one of the boot bags. He handed it to Abby and sat in his armchair while he watched her unzip it and pull out the boots.

“Oh, these are nice!” she said, examining the black Hunters.

He’d found a pair with a strap at the top like the leather ones she had. The thought of her pulling on that strap to tighten the boots was his gift to himself.

“Oh, and they have my name on them!” She traced the four embossed letters with her fingers, then turned to look at him. “Thank you! I love them.”

“You’re welcome. I got a pair for myself because my old ones are full of holes.”

“Do yours have your name on them as well?”

“Erm, no.” He’d only had Abby’s name added to make her smile. The thought of being one of those couples who dressed exactly alike sent shivers down Kane’s spine, and then he realised they had matching jackets, in style at least, and now matching wellingtons! Was this how it happened? Did it creep up on you until all your likes and wants and needs converged, and you became one person? He didn’t know what to think about that!

While he was pondering their coupledom, Abby had slipped on the wellingtons and she stood and walked around, her long, slim legs clad in grey skinny jeans and tucked into the boots.

“They look great,” said Kane.

“I can’t wait to go out in them tomorrow.” She came across to Kane, bent and kissed his cheek. “I love them,” she whispered.

The temptation to pull her into his arms and kiss her was great, but his mom was watching them, so Kane nodded, and Abby returned to the sofa, taking off the boots and then curling her socked feet beneath her legs.

Abby told Vera about her problems with her client, Bellamy Blake, and Kane mostly listened. It was strange to be sitting apart from Abby because over the last few weeks they’d always sat side by side, or lay together, touching each other, holding each other, kissing when they felt like it. Now there was the width of the room and his mom between them. Abby’s eyes kept drifting towards him when Vera was talking, and Kane kept his eyes fixed on her, watching her as she talked, as she smiled, as she grew animated, or frustrated. She was an emotional person was Abby. The definition of someone who wore their heart on their sleeve.

Last time they were here, Kane had described his ideal woman to her, knowing that he thought she was it, but he’d mostly been talking intellectually, and in some ways his feelings for her still surprised him. He hadn’t thought he’d fall for someone as emotional as her, someone as warm and kind-hearted, because those were the very traits that had annoyed him about her when she was his opposing Counsel and which he'd maligned in his article and in his conversations with her. Yet here they were a few months later, and those things that had annoyed him were what he loved the most.

He saw Abby pull some case notes out of her bag and hand them to Vera. They bent their heads over the file, so Kane picked up his book and started to read. He looked over at the two women at the end of each chapter, and they were still discussing the case. After his third chapter, Abby looked up at the same time and they smiled at each other. Kane wished his mom would go to bed so he could finally spend some time with Abby. It was torture having her so close and yet so far.

Finally, he heard his mom yawn, and looked up to see her stretching.

“I should get to bed,” she said. “Big day tomorrow.”

“I hope you’ll let me help with the preparations, Vera,” said Abby.

“I won’t say no, love.” She kissed Abby’s cheek. “Night.”

“Night, Vera.”

“Night, mom,” said Kane as his mom pressed a kiss to his head.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she replied, giving him a knowing look.

Kane waited until he heard the stairs creak, and then he crossed to the sofa, sank down next to Abby.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied.

“I missed you,” murmured Kane.

“You were only over there.”

“I know, but still.” Kane kissed her cheek, and she turned towards him, put her arms around his neck and captured his lips.

Kane was losing himself in the kiss when there was a creak and the door opened. They flew apart, and Kane turned to see Vera heading towards them.

“I forgot my knitting,” she said, taking a ball of yarn and two needles out of a bag by the side of the sofa. She glanced at them but made no comment, turned and left, shutting the door behind her.

“That was close,” said Kane.

“She knows,” replied Abby. “She’s not stupid.”

“Maybe.” Kane hadn’t told Abby what Vera had said to him about her being the one.

“Why are we hiding this from her, whatever ‘this’ is?”

“I don’t know. What we have, I don’t think people would understand. Besides, it’s kind of fun, sneaking around. I feel young again.” He put his arm around her, brought her down so she was lying next to him.

“You don’t think people would understand?”

“Do you?”

“No. You’re right; they wouldn’t.” Abby moved closer to him before sitting up suddenly. “Ouch!”

“What?

“My cell phone’s digging into me. Hang on.” She stretched out so she could reach into her pocket and pull out her phone. She looked at the screen. “No signal.”

“Probably all the snow. It happens a lot up here.”

“Your office won’t be able to reach you; how will you cope?” she said, her tone gently mocking.

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” he said, not very convincingly. “It’s good for me and the team to learn to cope without each other, I guess.”

“I think so. You like to be in control; I’m the same, but these last few months have made me look at that part of myself. When control of your life is taken away from you it takes a lot of adjustment.”

“I understand how you feel, but you do have control. You have control over me now you’re my boss!”

“That’s true.” Abby traced the contours of his face with her fingers, ending at his lips, which she then kissed.

“I want to concentrate on you, on us, while we’re here,” murmured Kane.

“I want that too.”

She laid her head on his chest and Kane stroked her hair as he liked to do, staring at the fire as it crackled in the grate. He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew she was shaking him.

“Time for bed, I think.”

Kane looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight and they’d both had a long, tiring day. He got up, switched off the lamps, locked up the house and then Abby followed him up the stairs. They paused outside his bedroom door. She reached up, kissed his lips softly.

“Night, Marcus.”

“Night, Abby.”

Kane watched until she was in her room, then went into his own room, changing into his sleepwear as quickly as he could because the fire had waned, and it was cold. He got under the sheets, lay with the light on thinking about Abby who was on the other side of the wall. Would she come to him like she had that first night, seeking comfort or reassurance? He left the light on. Listened. Waited. She didn’t come, and eventually he turned off the light and tried to get to sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Eve, and, well.... just read ;)

Early the next morning, Abby tapped gently on Marcus’s bedroom door. She’d been downstairs but there was no sign of him or Vera so she’d assumed he was still in bed.

“Come in,” he said in a voice gruff with sleep.

Abby opened the door, poked her head around. Marcus was sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes. His hair was stuck up every which way and Abby suppressed a smile. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I was awake. I just couldn’t face getting up it’s so cold.”

“That’s kind of why I’m here. You said last time you’d show me how to rekindle the fire, but we never got around to it.”

“Oh, yes! Of course. I should have thought of that.”

He threw back the covers and got out of bed. He was wearing dark grey thermal long johns and a long-sleeved top that fitted his lean body snugly. Abby fixed her eyes on his face instead of where they wanted to look, and then when he went ahead of her to her room she took in the tightness of his ass, and his muscled thighs and calves. Dear God! It was too early in the morning for a sight like that. Did he realise how he looked?

He knelt beside the fire and motioned Abby to kneel beside him.

“You’ve already got some warm embers beneath this grey ash, so it’s just a case of putting some of the smaller wood, the kindling, on top of that, then sometimes it will catch but most of the time you need to blow on it. Gently, though, otherwise you’ll get ash in your face.”

He loaded long, thin pieces of wood onto the grate and then added some thicker chunks on top of that, leaving spaces between.

“You can hear some crackling, yeah?”

Abby leaned closer to the fire. She could smell the old smoke and feel warmth against her face. The wood was whistling a soft tune.

“I can hear something, yes.”

“We should be able to get it going from that. Do you want to blow on it? Aim your breath towards the bottom, beneath the kindling.”

He put his hand on Abby’s back to steady her while she leaned forward. She blew on the wood but nothing happened.

“You need to get lower,” said Marcus, “and try and let out a long breath, like this.”

He moved next to her, bent low, his face close to hers, and let out a long, slow breath. The wood crackled louder, and a small flame flickered into life.

“You do it now.”

Abby’s hair flopped forward as she bent towards the fire and Marcus held it back. She took a deep breath then let it out as slowly as she could. The flames grew stronger, and she blew again. More flames appeared, and they caught the kindling and the fire grew stronger.

“Perfect,” said Marcus. He sat back on his heels and regarded Abby.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Your clothes will always smell of woodsmoke, and your hair, I’m afraid.”

“It’s a nice smell,” said Abby.

“It is.” Marcus reached across, stroked her hair.

He put his hand to the back of her head, brought her to him so he could kiss her lips. Abby put her arms around his neck, and he moved to kiss her cheek, and then her ear, until his lips were buried in her hair. She put her hands in his own messed up hair, her fingers gripping the short curls. He returned to her lips, and they pressed against each other. They slid to the floor in front of the fire, lying face to face, still kissing. Marcus’s breathing was short and loud as was hers. She held him so hard to her she could feel how much he wanted her. It would only take a flick of her hips to let him know she wanted him too like that. She stroked his arm while she debated whether this was the time to cross that line.

Then Marcus sighed, and rolled onto his back. “God!” he said, drawing out the syllable.

“We’re kidding ourselves,” said Abby.

“Yes, I...”

“Abby, is Marcus with you?” Vera’s voice came from outside the door.

They both sat up, and Marcus put his hands in his lap to hide his desire which in his tight thermal underwear was all too obvious.

“I was just lighting Abby’s fire, mom,” said Marcus, causing Abby to giggle.

The door opened, and Vera looked in. “I need you both up. There’s a lot to do today. Wood needs chopping, and you need to cut a tree. The animals need feeding.”

“We’ll be right there, mom.”

Marcus stood, held out his hand to Abby and pulled her to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her, kissed her softly. “Later,” he said, and then he disappeared back to his room.

Abby stood with her heart racing and her pulse throbbing. Later? What did that mean? Later they’d talk about it? Later they’d do something about it? They couldn’t go on like this, that was for sure.

After a breakfast that mainly consisted of Vera listing all the jobs that needed doing and Marcus and Abby sharing half glances that made Abby’s pulse race again, she pulled on her new boots and tramped out in the snow towards the barn. It was a cold morning, the snow deep and crisp beneath her feet. She was glad of her warm jacket and her bobble hat as she waded slowly through it. The paths were obscured but the barn was a beacon in the distance, its sloping roof looking weighed down with the snow. The door was blocked but she found a shovel and cleared it enough to sneak through. She’d have to carry the hay bales to the sheep because she was never going to get it open wide enough for the wheelbarrow.

She tramped back and forth to the sheep and the pigs, emptying the food waste and the hay into the troughs. She was followed everywhere by the chickens, and she talked to them as she went. It was a soothing task that she enjoyed. There was silence apart from the squabbling hens, and they quieted when she cleared a patch of ground and threw them their grain. She returned to the barn, put everything away and then went to visit Flora. The old pig came out of her hut at the sound of her name and Abby’s voice.

“Hello, old girl,” said Abby, as Marcus had done last time. “It’s lovely to see you again.” She fed Flora scraps and apples and stroked between her ears while she chomped. The sharp sound of metal splitting wood carried across the air. Marcus must be chopping firewood or cutting a tree. Was he really going to do that? Yet another surprising thing about him.

When she returned to the farmhouse Vera was elbow deep in flour and butter making pastry.

“Can you peel and slice the apples, Abby, love,” she said.

Abby found a board and a knife and got to work peeling and coring a mound of apples. “Is this your tradition to have apple pie?”

“We have so many of the things, Abby. Even with all the animals we can’t get rid of them. I don’t like to see waste, so yes, it’s always apple pie and I thought I would stew some with blackberries for apple crumble.”

“Oh, I can do that for you, if you like.”

“That would be lovely.” Vera smiled at Abby as she rubbed the butter into the flour. “You and Marcus are getting along well.”

“Yes,” said Abby, keeping her head down as she chopped. “He’s a good man.”

“He’s been too long on his own. It’s nice to see someone caring for him.”

“I do care for him. A lot.”

“I know. I can tell. You’re good for him.”

“He’s been a rock throughout my whole situation.”

“I know he has his faults, plenty of them.” Vera laughed softly. “But you can trust him, you know, Abby.”

“I do trust him, Vera.” Abby reached across, stroked Vera’s arm.

“I mean with more than your case. You can trust him with your heart. He won’t hurt you.” Vera nodded at Abby to emphasise her point.

Abby had to swallow hard because unexpected emotions welled up in her at Vera’s words. “I...”

“You don’t have to say anything; I know it’s none of my business. I just wanted you to know that.”

At that moment the kitchen door opened, and Marcus walked in. He was covered in pine needles and snow. “Is someone going to help me get this damned tree inside?”

\---

By early afternoon the tree was up and when Kane returned from chopping enough wood to see them through at least two winters, Abby and his mom were in the parlour decorating it. The house smelled of spices and Kane got an unexpected hit of nostalgia when he stepped into the room. He half expected to see his dad’s brylcreemed head in the armchair that Kane now called his own. He watched his mom and Abby as they hung baubles that had been in the family for generations. Vera was telling Abby the history of them and Kane had a realisation so strong it caused him to gasp for breath.

Abby looked up sharply. “Are you okay?”

Kane nodded while he gathered himself.

“Did a goose walk over your grave, Marcus?” said Vera.

“That’s a ridiculous thing to say,” said Kane now recovered. “I think I just swallowed some air. Something like that.”

“Sit down. You’ve been working too hard.”

Kane sat in his father’s chair and gripped the arms. He examined his revelation. He and Abby would have a home together one day. They’d be decorating their own tree. He saw it so clearly. Would they have a family? Was that a future for them? Did he want that? And if not, why had he seen it? Why had he seen himself lifting a small child up so they could put a star on top of the tree?

The thought sent shivers through him. Not shivers of fear or even of pleasure, just a kind of awakening, a glimpse of an alternate universe that could be his if he wanted it, if Abby wanted it. It was shocking to realise it was possible, or that his mind was capable of thinking it. He shook his head. He was getting carried away because it was Christmas and it was a time for family and remembrance. He and Abby weren’t even dating officially, and neither of them were getting any younger.

“I’m going to go and see Flora,” he said, finding he needed fresh air suddenly.

Abby looked at him with a frown, but his mom merely nodded.

“Okay, love,” she said.

He’d been outside maybe fifteen minutes when he heard the crunch of boots on snow and knew Abby was here. She appeared beside him a moment later, leaned on the fence and reached out to stroke Flora’s ears.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she said. “You went as white as a ghost earlier.”

“I’m fine. Like mom said I think I overdid it.”

She slid her arm around his waist and Kane put his around her shoulder. Abby rested her head against him and he kissed her woolly bobble hat. He wanted her. He wanted her forever, and she might not be here that long. She might be locked away from him. That was why they were supposed to be taking things slowly, not making the final commitment, but it was hard, because she was right here, and she was warm and loving and beautiful, and sex couldn’t make things any more complicated than they already were. Neither could love.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hat.

She looked up at him with her large dark eyes. “What did you say?”

“I said I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“Marcus!” Tears welled in her eyes and Kane felt terrible. He shouldn’t have told her, shouldn’t have forced his own need onto her.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, there’s no need to be sorry. Gosh, I just... I wasn’t expecting...” She turned so she was facing him, put her gloved hand on his cheek, stroked it with her thumb. Her eyes were searching his.

Kane looked down at her. “I can’t help it.”

Her face crumpled, her eyes growing big and bright and her lips trembling. Jesus he was an idiot, a stupid foolish idi... His thoughts were cut off by the suddenness of her mouth on his, by her arms snaking around his neck and her soft moan as he held her so tightly to him she was almost lifted off the ground.

“I love you too,” she said in between kisses. “I can’t help it either.”

“We’re doomed,” said Kane, smiling as he kissed her nose. He glowed with warmth and happiness.

“We’ve been doomed for a while now.”

“From the moment you cooked me the filet mignon.”

“From the note you left me on the book.”

“Really?” said Kane, surprised at her revelation.

“It just told me everything about you. It took my breath away.”

Kane didn’t know what to say. He’d just been trying to reassure her that she’d been safe and had nothing to worry about. He’d forgotten all about it since. Flora grunted and Abby turned in his arms so she could see her. Kane held her to him, his arms wrapped around her neck, his nose buried in her hat. She reached up to grasp his arms and they swayed a little as they watched the pig. The sky greyed and snow started to fall. Flora retreated into her hut, but Kane stood with Abby until the snow became too wet.

“We should go back,” he said.

“Yes, Flora has the right idea.”

He kept one arm around her neck, and she put her arm around his waist again and they walked together back to the house, kicking up the snow as they went. They shed their outer gear in the porch, Abby lining her boots up next to Kane’s.

“I’ll make coffee,” said Kane, and he went to the stove, lit the ring beneath the kettle. Abby slid her arms around him from behind, rested her head against his back.

“what do we do with this?” she said.

He placed his hands on hers. “We enjoy it. We do whatever we want, when we want. No pressures, no worrying.” He turned so he was facing her, pulled off her bobble hat and stroked her hair. “I’m crazy about you. I’m so glad to be able to tell you at last.”

“You make me happy,” Abby said, putting her arms around his neck.

“Who would have thought it,” grinned Kane, and then they kissed until the whistle blew on the kettle and they had to part.

\---

Vera was in one of the armchairs knitting a scarf when they entered the parlour. Jazz music was playing softly and although it was barely two o’clock the light was dull because of the snow. The room was warm, though, with the fire roaring and the lamps lit. Abby handed Vera a coffee and then took a seat next to Marcus on the sofa.

“Is everything alright?” said Vera, examining them both closely.

“Everything’s great,” said Marcus, smiling at his mom and then Abby.

“Do you want to switch the tree lights on, Marcus? He always loved doing that job when he was a boy, Abby.”

“I’d say Abby should get the honour as the guest but given the age of these things I’d better do it. Don’t want to electrocute her,” he said as he got up and went over to the tree. He knelt beside it and plugged it into the wall. Multi-coloured lights flickered on glowing red, blue, green and white.

“Oh, it looks lovely!” exclaimed Vera.

It was a lovely tree, and it felt so personal and unique, having been cut down by Marcus and decorated with family heirlooms, laden with memories.

“It’s beautiful,” said Abby.

When Marcus returned to the sofa, he put his feet up on Abby’s legs like he did when they were at her place or his. Abby looked at Vera who had her head down again engrossed in her knitting.

“What are you doing?” she mouthed to Marcus.

He shrugged and smiled. “It doesn’t matter now,” he mouthed in reply.

He had socks on, so Abby worked her fingers under his jeans until she found bare skin. She circled it the way he liked, and when she looked at him, he had his head back and his eyes closed. 

She closed her own eyes, listened to the jazz and the rhythmic clicking of Vera’s needles. Marcus had surprised the hell out of her with his declaration earlier. She wasn’t impressed with her response, and wished she could go back, do it over again, preferably without the shock and the tears that had probably made him feel like he’d made a terrible mistake. She was just so taken aback. It wasn’t a revelation that he had deep feelings for her; she could tell that from how he treated her, the way he looked at her, the things he said. It was that he should choose to tell her, to express himself so intimately, and to do it now. Something had happened today; she didn’t know what, but it must have solidified something in his mind, made him compelled to declare himself.

It felt amazing to hear it, like being covered in a warm blanket, and to be free to admit her own feelings that had built up until she’d started to think they were doing more harm than good denying what was really going on. It hadn’t been about sex, even though they’d chosen to take the slow route to that, it had been about love, about admitting what they had today. She’d been scared that if they said out loud that they loved each other then if she had to go to jail it would make it so much harder, but not saying the words didn’t change the feelings that already existed. It was going to be hard no matter what.

She got the feeling someone was looking at her and she opened her eyes to see Vera smiling at them both. Abby smiled back, and Vera sighed happily. Abby looked at Marcus, at his strong features that were soft in repose. She was in love with Marcus Kane, and he was in love with her. She laughed softly at the thought.

Before dinner, which Marcus had insisted on making, Abby went out to feed the animals again. It was dark and she had to take a torch. The snow was so deep she had to lift her legs up high with every step. At this rate they’d be snowed in by morning. She took extra food for the sheep and the pigs. The sheep didn’t seem to mind the snow and were standing by the troughs waiting for her. The pigs were in their huts, so she took their food to them. Flora didn’t want to come out of her hut and Abby had to be content with seeing only her snout as she snuffled the food Abby left. She stood at the fence and watched. This spot had taken on extra significance now, because it was where Marcus had told her he loved her. Next to a pig pen, on a farm, in Ithaca. Her life had become unrecognisable but strangely, murder charge and impending lifelong incarceration aside, she was the happiest she’d been in a long, long time.

By the time she’d shaken off all the snow and hung up her coat and boots Marcus had finished making the dinner and Abby took her seat at the kitchen table, a bowl of some kind of tomato stew placed in front of her.

“What is this?” she said, taking a spoonful of pasta and beans.

“Pasta fazool,” said Marcus with a smile.

“Fazool? I’ve never heard of it before.”

“It’s fasule; it means beans in southern Italy, but I guess it got bastardised on the trip to America.”

“Have you heard the song That’s Amore, Abby?” said Vera.

“Of course.”

“It’s in that. It was Marcus’s dad’s favourite song. He used to sing it to me all the time.”

“Really?” Abby could only remember something about a big pizza pie from the song.

“Sing it for her, Marcus,” said Vera.

Marcus screwed up his face as he looked at his mom. “No way!”

“Come on, Marcus,” said Abby, delighted at the opportunity to tease him for a change. “You have a lovely voice.”

“Have you heard him sing, love?” said Vera.

“He sang me a song on my birthday. Manhattan.”

“Oh, that’s a good one yes. He sings that beautifully.”

“He does,” said Abby, grinning at Marcus.

“I’ll sing the line that mentions the pasta,” said Marcus. “Just to shut you both up.”

He hummed the tune to find his pitch, and then he sang the first line in his deep voice. “When the stars make you drool just like pasta fazool that’s amore. When you dance down the street with a cloud at your feet you’re in love.”

Vera joined in, swaying as she sang, so Marcus continued. “When you walk in a dream but you know you’re not dreaming signore. Scusami but you see back in old Napoli that’s amore.”

He looked at Abby as he sang the words and she couldn’t keep a huge smile off her face. “Wonderful,” she said when he stopped singing.

“That was lovely, Marcus. He used to sing all the time for us, Abby,” said Vera.

“I was young, and you used to force me,” said Marcus.

“You didn’t take much persuading.”

“If I had a lovely voice like you, I’d be singing all the time,” said Abby.

“You don’t sing, dear?” said Vera.

“I can hold a tune just about, but that’s it.”

“You can sing a Christmas song for us later. Do you have a favourite?”

“Oh, no, no. I couldn’t do that.”

“Come on, Abby,” said Marcus, mimicking what she’d said to him a moment ago. “It only seems fair.”

Crap. She’d walked herself right into this. “Once I’ve had a couple of glasses of wine maybe.”

“We’ve always made our own entertainment in the Kane household,” said Vera.

“And you wonder why I couldn’t wait to leave,” said Marcus, winking at Abby.

“Come back, though, haven’t you?” said Vera smugly.

“Hmm,” replied Marcus, looking at Abby.

“Your heritage means a lot to you,” she said to Vera.

“I’m only second generation. It was my parents who came over from Italy when they were children, so I’ve always felt connected to it. I take it you’re Irish from the necklace and the stew you like?”

Abby fingered her necklace, looked at Marcus who was watching her as she played with it. “My father’s ancestors were Irish but we didn’t celebrate any kind of traditions. It was never really part of my life growing up, not like it is for you, although I’ve been interested, I suppose.”

“I went to Ireland years ago, not long after I graduated,” said Marcus. “It’s beautiful. We should go one day.”

“Is that before or after we go to Toronto?” said Abby, amused and also warm at the thought of Marcus making plans for them.

“Toronto is a great city. When this asshat of a President got in, Abby, love, I thought about moving over there. It’s only an hour away. Canada’s a wonderful country.”

“I think maybe I’d like to go to Italy, actually. It would be fun to see where your family comes from, and all this wonderful food.”

Vera smiled broadly. “It would be a nice honeymoon destination,” she said nonchalantly, although Abby had a feeling she knew exactly what she was saying.

“Mom!” exclaimed Marcus.

Vera shrugged, and Abby laughed.

\---

After dinner Kane suggested they put their gifts under the tree. Abby came down with the long package he’d brought in from the car. It was still covered in brown paper, but now it had red ribbon around it and a decorative bouquet made from holly, ivy and pinecones attached. Kane checked the tag. It was for him.

“What the hell is that?” he said, trying to feel the package.

Abby slapped his hand away. “No touching. You’ll find out in the morning.”

“I can’t wait!” He poured them all a glass of wine and took a large sip of his. He sat back on the sofa with Abby next to him and his mom in the armchair opposite and he didn’t think he’d ever been more contented. His younger self had been desperate to escape all this, but now it made him happy. Maybe he was becoming an old man. He didn’t want to skip middle age and go straight to his dotage, but he was certainly enjoying this kind of life right now.

“Are we going to sing some songs?” said his mom, looking hopefully at him.

“If you insist,” he replied.

“Oh, God,” said Abby, putting a hand to her brow.

“You’ll be fine,” said Kane. “We’ll embarrass ourselves altogether and then you can sing what you want once you’ve warmed up.”

Her face was a picture, her terror writ all over it, and Kane was tempted to let her off the hook, but she’d forced him to sing, and he didn’t see why she should get away with it. He hoped she wasn’t too terrible. He wasn’t good at giving false praise. He went to sit at the small upright piano they’d had for as long as he could remember and played a few notes.

“This needs tuning!” he said.

“It’s fine,” said Vera.

“Just remember it’s the piano that’s out of tune, not me! What do you want first?”

“White Christmas.”

“Very appropriate. Okay.” Kane played the melody and he and his mother sang. He’d got over the embarrassment of it all now really. There were probably thousands, millions of people up and down the country doing something like this tonight. He’d been too much of a snob before, thinking it was beneath him. He tried not to look at Abby, who was mouthing the words but without much sound coming out. He could only imagine how intimidating this must be for her. The softer side of him he’d inherited from his mother and which Abby seemed to bring out in him felt bad for her; the teasing, provocative side of him was enjoying her discomfort.

He went through a repertoire of old songs and Abby’s voice gradually made an appearance as she grew in confidence. From what he could tell, she could definitely hold a tune, and her voice was in the lower register, soft and smoky, which wasn’t a surprise because that was how she talked.

“What’s your favourite song, Abby?” he said when they took a break for a drink.

“You won’t laugh?” she said, looking at him shyly.

“I think we’re beyond embarrassment now, don’t you? I’ll sing it with you if you want.”

“No, it’s okay. Erm. Well, I really like the John Lennon song, So This is Christmas.”

“Ah, okay. That’s a good song.” He’d half expected her to say a carol, given her Irish heritage, although he didn’t know if she was religious. She’d never mentioned it. There was still so much to find out about each other.

“Can you play it?”

“I can figure it out. Give me a minute.” He tinkered with the tune, finding the right key that would suit her voice. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

She started off tentative, and then got into her stride. She didn’t look at him or Vera, just closed her eyes and sang to herself. She was untutored, and sang a few bum notes, but Kane found her voice attractive, and the whole scene was more of a turn on than he’d have thought possible. He was glad he was hidden behind the piano. He joined in the chorus with Vera and soon they were singing all of the song. Abby had opened her eyes and seemed to be enjoying herself.

“That was fantastic!” said Kane when the song ended.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, perfect.”

Her smile warmed his heart, heated his blood even more.

“I’ve always loved that song, Abby,” said Vera.

“Me too,” Abby said.

They sang a couple more songs before Vera declared she was going to bed.

“It’s only ten o’clock,” said Kane, looking at the clock on the mantlepiece.

“I know, but I want to get up early, and you two don’t want an old lady hanging around all the time.”

“You don’t have to go, Vera,” said Abby.

“I’m tired, love.” Vera pressed a kiss to Abby’s head and one to Kane’s. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She left the room and Kane sat next to Abby on the sofa. “It’s been a day, huh?”

“I didn’t think I’d be spending it singing to you.” She laughed softly.

“I didn’t think I’d be telling you I love you.” He touched her cheek, stroked the sharp bone with his thumb. It was too late for it to cut him; he’d already been opened up, laid bare.

“I’m glad you did,” she murmured, and she leaned towards him, touched his lips gently with hers.

“You have a very sexy voice,” he whispered as he pressed tiny kisses to her lips, her cheeks, down to her throat, which she bared to him with a soft moan.

“Not as sexy as yours. I think you should sing to me some more.” She pressed herself to him, her breasts squashed against his chest. Kane wrapped his arms around her to hold her tighter.

“Maybe tomorrow, or when we go to the jazz club on New Year’s Eve.”

“If we get there. The snow is pretty thick outside.” Abby rested her head against his chest, and Kane lay back on the sofa, bringing her with him so they were lying side by side in each other’s arms.

“If it were up to me we’d stay here forever,” Abby said.

“You’d miss New York.”

“I don’t know. Maybe your mom and dad had the right idea.”

“They had me, and the legal aid practice. I don’t think farm life would keep you entertained forever.”

She sighed but didn’t answer him. Kane lay quietly. A life up here would drive them both mad, wouldn’t it? She was in an uncertain place in her life, and New York held all her bad memories. It was natural she would want to try and escape it. He was about to say this to her, tell her it was all because of her case, but decided against it. She was entitled to feel what she did. It wasn’t for him to tell her if it was good or bad.

“I think it’s best to live each day as it comes,” he said.

“You’re right.” She looked up into his eyes. “And this has been the most wonderful day.”

“I’ve never spent Christmas with a partner before,” said Kane, and he felt Abby grip him tighter. He wasn’t even bothered any more how pathetic that made him sound. It was the truth.

“Is that what we are? Partners.”

“Holmes and Watson, remember?”

“Yes.” She held his face, kissed him deeply.

They lay like that, kissing, holding each other, until the clock struck eleven. Kane sighed. “I suppose we should get some rest.”

“Christmas Day in an hour!” said Abby, and she sat up, stretched and yawned.

Kane got up reluctantly, put a couple of large logs on the fire to make sure there were embers for the morning, then he locked up and took Abby’s hand, leading her up the stairs. Outside his room again, and they stood in each other’s arms, kissing until Kane couldn’t take it any more without wanting to take her into his room and his bed. She seemed reluctant to go, but also to stay. He didn’t want to confuse things when their love was so new and they were both still working out how to deal with it. He kissed her one last time.

“Night, Abby,” he said.

“Night, Marcus.” She stood looking at him for a moment longer, then turned and went to her room.

Kane went to the bathroom, washed quickly and dressed in his thermals before stoking up the fire in his room to get some warmth. He got into bed, pulled the quilt up. He turned the lamp down low and lay in its dim glow. He contemplated picking up his book, but he was too wired to concentrate. He lay on his back, his hands behind his head and thought about everything that had happened that day.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he heard a soft knock on his door.

“Marcus?” said Abby. “Are you awake?”

He sat up, his pulse starting to race. What did this mean? “Yes. Come in,” he said in a voice that was steadier than he was feeling.

She opened the door and then closed it behind her, standing against it in her blue flannel pyjamas with the grey stars, the same ones she’d worn last time she was in his room. She looked at him without speaking. Kane didn’t think she was here this time because she was unused to the silence. He peeled back the quilt next to him, and she walked around to the other side of the bed, slid beneath the cover. He lay down, turned to face her. She reached out, put her hand against his cheek, her thumb caressing his soft flesh.

“I want you,” she whispered, and then she closed the gap between them, pressed her warm body against his, brought his lips towards hers, and kissed him.

Kane groaned as her tongue probed for his. She tasted of red wine and herbs and it was all he could do not to devour her. Her fingers were tangled in his hair and she was holding him tightly to her.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispered when they came up for air.

Abby smiled. “Yes. I’m very sure.” She rolled them so she was straddling him, leant forward and slid her hands beneath his top, pushing up the material to expose his chest. She bent, pressed her lips to his bare skin, kissed every square inch of it, lingering over his nipples, her tongue coming out to lick them, suck them. Kane didn’t hide his pleasure or his moans.

“I knew you’d be appreciative,” she murmured.

“It’s you,” said Kane, growing hotter at the knowledge that she’d thought about this, about what it would be like, what he would be like. He pulled off his top, discarded it on the floor.

She sat back and regarded him, then started to unbutton her pyjama top. Kane was torn between wanting to do that himself and enjoying watching her. He decided to cede all control to her and lay back to enjoy the view. She did it slowly, and the anticipation had him throbbing with desire. When the last button was undone she pushed the shirt off her shoulders and sat bare chested in front of him. All those glimpses he’d had of her breasts, the kisses he’d placed on the swell of them, and now they were revealed to him, soft and round and perfect. He reached up, rubbed his thumbs over her hard nipples and she closed her eyes, let out a long sigh. He looked at her, took in the sight of her long, brown hair resting on the swell of her breasts. He’d expected her nipples to be dark like her hair and her eyes, but they were a dusky pink and her skin was pale and creamy.

She bent to kiss him again, her breasts squashed against his chest, and Kane flipped her so it was him on top, and he put his mouth where it had longed to go on her birthday and sucked a nipple, teasing it with his tongue until she was moaning and his hand was massaging her other breast and he was lost in the pleasure of it. His cock was straining against her thigh, and she put her hands on his thermals, started to ease them down. Kane helped her until the pants were off and his cock was free. He eased her pyjama bottoms down, leaving only her white lacy underwear. He put his hand on her toned belly, then kissed it, his lips tracing a line along the edge of her underwear. She bucked up against him and that was all the encouragement he needed.

He eased her panties down, his lips following his fingers, and she sighed and moaned and pressed against him. God, any moment now he was going to know what she tasted like. He pulled her underwear the rest of the way down then nosed into her, unable to wait any longer. She was warm and spiced like apple cider and he split her apart with his thumbs and ran his tongue between her lips. She cried out, thrust her hips involuntarily towards him.

“Marcus!” she moaned.

“Is this alright?” He looked up and she was lying back on the bed, her fingers playing with her nipple. The sight undid him and his cock twitched.

“Yes, God, yes.”

She kept her eyes closed and Kane returned to his task, taking his time even though his cock was throbbing and leaking his desire. He wanted to give her as much pleasure as he could. There was only ever going to be one first time making her come, and he wanted it to be amazing. Her breaths were speeding up and she was rubbing herself against his nose and tongue. He stuck to a rhythm that had her gasping and was gratified when she bucked against him and cried out with her pleasure. He held his tongue to her pulsing clit, lapped at it gently until she stilled.

“Wow!” he said, looking up from between her legs.

She puffed out a long breath. “Yeah,” was all she said.

Kane moved up the bed until he was lying next to her. She wrapped her arms around him, kissed his lips. “That was so good. Thank you,” she said.

“It was amazing,” said Kane, and then he gasped as Abby reached between them, wrapped her fist around his cock and stroked him. “Ah, God!” he said. She lifted her leg over his, angled his cock so it nudged at her entrance. Kane let it slip in a little way, he couldn’t resist, then back out again.

“Are we safe?” he murmured.

“Yes,” she said.

He pushed in further, then back out, taking his time easing into her because he was big and she was tight even though she was wet and he didn’t want to hurt her, but more than that he wanted to savour this moment, to enjoy it, and that took some control, because he was desperate now to bury himself in her and let go. They both let out a deep moan when he slid all the way in, and he turned her onto her back so he could control his thrusts. She wrapped her legs around him, stroked the muscles in his arms as he held himself above her. He gave into his body’s need and fucked her, trying different angles to see if she had a sweet spot. He knew he’d found it when she gasped and opened further to him. He thrust hard and she rose to meet him and they clung to each other as they fucked.

She came quickly the second time and he let himself go because his need was too great to hang on for long. His orgasm was so strong it made him lightheaded. He collapsed on top of her and she held him tight. They kissed and then he rolled onto his back. Abby laid her head on his chest, stroked his belly with delicate fingers.

“That was incredible,” she said.

“It was. It was amazing.” He kissed her head.

“We have to do it again. Many, many times,” she said with a soft laugh.

“I might need a minute,” said Kane, and she looked up at him with a loving smile and his heart, which had started to calm down, picked up a staccato beat again. “I knew we’d be great together.”

“We’ve only just begun,” said Abby.

“That’s another song,” said Kane.

“It is. I like that song.”

“It’s your turn to sing to me.”

“I have to get my breath back.”

“Hmm.” Kane stroked her back, traced the sharp bones of her spine down to her ass, circling the soft skin in the hollow there, marvelling that he was able to do this. Soon he would know every inch of her, and her him. “I love you,” he whispered.

Abby sighed, flung her arm across his chest. “I love you too.”

Kane closed his eyes, indulged in the simple pleasure of having Abby in his arms, her bare skin warm against his, her woodsmoked hair tickling his chest. She didn’t seem eager to leave, so he pulled the quilt up over them, and she snuggled closer to him.

“Night, Abby,” he said.

“Night, Marcus,” she mumbled, her low voice vibrating through his chest.

Kane let himself drift into a very satisfied sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Day, and Kane and Abby have presents for each other ;)

Abby woke when something warm brushed against her, making her jump. She thought for half a second it was a spider and flung out her arm to knock it away.

“Ow!” said a voice. Marcus’s voice. Oh, yes! God! She was in his bed. They’d spent the night together. She turned and saw him looking at her with a look of pretend outrage on his face.

“Sorry. I forgot where I was.”

“You forgot last night already?” he said looking wounded.

“Only for a moment. It’s all coming back to me now.”

“Is it?” he said in a low, seductive voice. He brushed stray hairs from her face then leaned in to kiss her.

“Mmm,” she murmured into his mouth as his tongue found hers. They wrapped themselves around each other beneath the quilt. They were still naked, and his skin was warm against hers, his cock heavy as it pressed into her belly.

“Morning,” said Marcus when they parted. “Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas. Thank you for last night.” Abby stroked his cheek, stared into his warm, brown eyes; her heart raced as she saw the love in them.

“You said we should do it again.”

“I think we should.” She slipped her hand between them, stroked the length of his stiffening cock making him groan.

“Hold that thought one moment,” he said.

He flung back the quilt on his side of the bed, got out and padded naked towards the fire. Abby propped herself up on her elbow and watched him. He was completely confident in himself and his body, she could tell that by the way he walked, not caring that he was naked, that every part of his body was on view to her. He knelt beside the fire, the muscles in his thighs and calves stretching and straining, his ass tight and pert. Various parts of Abby began to throb.

He put kindling on the fire, blew on it like he’d shown her the day before, and then put some big logs on. The wood caught and flames started to flicker.

“It will be cold in here if we don’t get that going,” he said, standing and turning. He walked back to the bed, his long, heavy cock bouncing with every stride, and desire flooded Abby. He was hers. All of him. Jesus! He got back in bed, pulled the quilt over them and scooted towards her.

“Where were we?” he said, as if he hadn’t just struck a match and set her on fire.

She swallowed hard. “We were going to do what we did last night.”

“Oh, yes.” He traced the contours of her face with his fingers, down her nose, across her cheeks, down to her lips. “I was tired last night you should know. I can last longer than that.”

Abby smiled at his assessment of his performance. Had he been thinking about this, worrying about it? “You gave me two great orgasms. It was perfect.”

“I know, but I can do better. I can do whatever you want. Anything.” He was smiling as he kissed the parts of her face he’d traced with his fingers.

“We’ll have to find somewhere with a chandelier I can swing from.”

Marcus stopped kissing her and laughed. “I said that to you, didn’t I?”

“You did. And the men on Canal and Bowery.”

He shook his head. “I’m an asshole. How did you ever fall for me?”

Abby took his face in her hands, kissed his lips. “You left me a note. A lovely, caring note. And you let me into your life, and you showed me your truth.”

Marcus held her closer to him. “I surprised myself there. I don’t know why I did that,” he whispered into her ear.

“Because you wanted me to see you.” Abby kissed the side of his head, the rough stubble that had formed on his cheek overnight.

“I guess.”

“And I did. I did see you. I do,” she whispered.

Marcus groaned, and Abby put her hand between them, guided him inside her. They rocked together slowly, side by side, kissing, caressing each other. She put her hands on his firm ass, squeezing it as she encouraged him deeper.

Afterwards they lay in each other’s arms listening to the crackle of the fire, and the wind that was rattling the windowpane.

“You’re perfect for me,” said Marcus, and butterflies fluttered in Abby’s stomach. They were falling deeply, quickly, but she found she didn’t care. After all the worrying, the pretending things weren’t what they really were, that nothing important was happening, she was ready to give herself up to it. Life was short and unpredictable. There was no point lying to themselves or each other.

“It’s the most wonderful thing,” she said, kissing his bottom lip, sucking on it. He moaned and held her closer. She was about to wrap her leg over his when there was a knock at the door.

“Are you two going to get up today?” said Vera. “There’s a lot to do.”

Marcus coughed. “Erm, what do you mean you two?”

Abby could hear Vera’s half laugh, half sigh through the door. “I wasn’t born yesterday. Come on. Up!”

“Do you think she heard us last night or this morning?” said Abby as they sat up in bed.

“I doubt it; she’s on the other side of the building, although you were loud enough to wake the dead at a couple of crucial moments.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“I was not!” said Abby, batting his arm. “I was being deliberately quiet, just in case.”

“Oh! So you can be loud then?”

“If there’s something to appreciate, I might let you know about it vocally.”

“Jesus!” he said. “Now I can’t wait to get home.”

“You have to do something to make it worth it first.” Abby got out of bed, stretched, then bent to pick up the pyjamas she’d discarded on the floor last night, giving Marcus the same view she’d had of him. She heard his sharp intake of breath and smiled. She pulled on her clothes just in case Vera was still outside, then knelt on the bed to kiss him.

“Meet you downstairs,” she said, and then she left him staring after her with his cock half-mast. It was a waste, but there was always later. Plenty of laters to come.

\---

“Happy Christmas, son,” said Vera when Kane found her in the parlour. She’d switched the lights on the tree and the lamps were lit because the sky outside was grey and heavy with snow and there wasn’t much light through the small windows.

“Happy Christmas, mom.” He kissed her cheek. “Is Abby here?” She’d beat him to the bathroom earlier, so he’d expected to see her here already.

“She’s gone out to feed the animals.”

“In this?” said Kane, looking out of the window.

“She insisted. She’ll be fine. She knows what she’s doing now.”

“I should go and find her.”

“Leave her, Marcus. I think she needs her time alone with them.”

Kane huffed as he sank into his armchair. She was probably right, and it annoyed him that she’d realised something about Abby that he had not.

“She’s such a lovely girl. I’m so happy you found her.”

“You don’t think we’re storing up trouble for ourselves with her situation being what it is?”

“You’re going to save her, like I said.”

“It’s not that simple...”

“Let me finish. You don’t need to tell the law to me, Marcus. I was practising it before you were even a twinkle in your father’s eye.” She gave him a stern look.

“Sorry. I know.”

“Your dad died too young. You know that. And I miss him all the time, and I wish he was still here with us. He would have loved Abby so much, and he’d be so proud of you.”

“Mom!” said Kane, who was unexpectedly moved by her words. He felt tears forming much to his alarm. God, he was getting soft.

“If you’d said to me at the start that there’s a time limit. You’re only going to have so many years with this man and then he will be gone forever, I would still have married him and loved him. We would still have had you and been happy. I wouldn’t change a thing, and what comforts me most is knowing that his few years were filled with happiness. You have a chance with Abby, Marcus. A chance to make a life with her one way or another. You can’t let time or the lack of it run your life or influence your decisions. Love her now, because this is the time of your life, the only time you can be certain of.”

The tears that he’d been trying to hold back flowed now uncontrollably and he was wiping them away and cursing the wisdom of his mother when the door opened, and a pink-cheeked Abby walked in. She stopped dead when she saw a red-eyed Kane and Vera looking at her.

“We were just talking about my dad,” said Kane by way of explanation.

“Oh. I’m so sorry to intrude.”

“You’re not, love,” said Vera, holding her hand out to Abby who took it. “I was telling Marcus how much he would have loved you.”

“Oh, gosh. Thank you!” Abby wiped a tear from her eye and Kane decided that was enough sentiment for one morning or indeed one lifetime.

“Are we doing breakfast first or presents?”

“We’d better eat,” said Abby. “You’re a grump if you haven’t had food.”

“I’m never grumpy!” said Kane, to a chorus of laughter from his mom and Abby. He was grateful to Abby for lightening the mood, because he didn’t want her to know how much he worried about their future. His mom was right but knowing how he should be dealing with it and actually doing it were two different things. He had to work on the latter.

After a breakfast of scrambled eggs and coffee Kane’s equilibrium returned along with his sense of fun. He couldn’t wait to see what Abby had got him, or for her to see what he’d got for her.

“What should we open first?” he said, rubbing his hands.

“As Vera has been so kind letting me stay I’d like to go first,” said Abby, picking out a large round parcel and handing it to Vera.

“Oh, there was no need to get me anything, love. It’s a pleasure having you here.”

“I wanted to. I really appreciate you opening up your home to me.”

Vera glanced at Kane as if to tell him how right she’d been all along about Abby. He raised an eyebrow in response and watched as his mom opened the gift. It was a large plate with an attractive design that seemed to be mainly lemons.

“It’s hand painted,” said Abby. “I thought it seemed Mediterranean.”

“It’s lovely,” said Vera. “What a thoughtful gift. We’ll use it at dinner.”

“It’s beautiful, Abby,” said Kane.

“Thank you.”

“I made you a couple of things, love. They’re not much, but you’ve brought a lot of joy into my life just being here.” Vera handed Abby two packages.

Kane was curious to see what she’d got her as she hadn’t even mentioned giving Abby a present. Abby unwrapped the larger of the gifts to reveal a knitted scarf that matched her bobble hat.

“Oh, I’ve seen you knitting this! It’s fantastic, thank you.”

“You’ll need it up here, Abby, dear, as you’ve probably realised.”

“Yes.” Abby laughed, then wrapped the scarf around her neck and posed with it for Kane’s and Vera’s benefit.

“I dare you to wear that in New York,” said Kane.

“I will!” she said with a challenging look.

Kane smiled. She unwrapped the other package and it was a small folder like a photograph album. Abby opened it, flicked through it. Kane leaned in to see what it was. It seemed to be a lot of postcards with writing on them.

“What is it?” he said.

“They’re recipes,” said Abby, pulling one out and looking at it.

“They’re all my traditional recipes,” said Vera. “I’ve copied them out for you. Some of them go back generations in our family.”

“Oh, my God!” said Abby. “That’s... wow!” She pulled Vera into a warm hug.

“A gift for you and for me!” said Kane in order to make light of the gift because in truth he was overwhelmed at his mother’s gesture. She’d clearly decided that Abby was here to stay, and whilst he truly hoped that was the case, he didn’t want her to put her under pressure, and his mom seemed to be going all out today to bring her into the family.

“They’re for Abby, not you,” said Vera.

“Someone has to sample them, be quality control.”

“I’m sure that will be a terrible sacrifice for you,” said Abby with a grin.

“It will!” Kane pointed to the long package that was for him. “Can we have that one next?”

“You’re like a big kid!” said Abby as she pulled the present from underneath the tree.

“He was always like this, until he hit puberty and then any kind of fun was beneath him,” said Vera.

“I think we’ve established I was obnoxious as a kid,” said Kane.

“As a kid?” said Abby, smirking at him.

“Just give it me!” he said, though he was smiling.

“Merry Christmas, you old grump,” said Abby, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she handed him the gift.

It was heavy, and Kane ran his fingers over the package, pulled various faces as he examined it, mainly to draw out the joy of his first gift from Abby and also to tease her and wind her up.

“Hmm,” he said. He refrained from making a joke about it being big and long. He would have done if his mom wasn’t here, not that she’d be bothered, but it didn’t feel right. “I’m thinking it’s a framed full-length photograph of me. The one from the article perhaps.”

“As if!” said Abby with a laugh.

“What else...” he turned it over a few more times until Abby was sitting on her heels and almost rocking with anticipation.

“Just open the damned thing!” she said, and her breaking was what Kane had been waiting for.

“So impatient!” he said, and then he carefully removed the ribbon and the sprig of ivy and ran his finger slowly beneath the taped seal, easing the paper apart. He looked up at her before he pulled the paper off. She was watching him intently, sucking nervously on her lips. He was torturing himself too by making her wait, so he peeled back the paper to reveal a black piece of metal.

“Turn it over!” said Abby.

Kane turned it over to find it was a street sign, one of the old-style ones from the fifties. It said Broadway, and above the name of the street was an arrow and the numbers 329-315, which was the block his office was on. Kane ran his fingers over the embossed lettering. The metal was pitted and some of the white lettering was edged with rust. He was so surprised at the uniqueness of it that he couldn’t speak.

“The guy said it was authentic. I don’t know how truthful he was being.” She laughed nervously, and that galvanised Kane into speech.

“It’s perfect. That’s the block my office is on.”

“Yeah,” said Abby. “I couldn’t believe my luck.”

“Wow!” he said, and then he leaned across and kissed her lips, bringing her into a hug. “I love it. Thank you.”

“I thought it would look great on the wall of your loft,” she said.

“It will.” Kane picked up the sign, examined it closely. “All the rain that has fallen on this, all the exhaust fumes that have gradually eroded it. The people that have walked past it, taken direction from it. It’s a piece of history.”

“Yes, and you’re part of that.” Abby sat back, a satisfied smile on her face.

“Let me see, Marcus,” said Vera and Kane handed the sign to his mother.

“It’s heavy. Be careful,” he said.

“I had ten dollars left, so I got you this as well,” said Abby, handing him a small box wrapped in brown paper printed with a Christmas tree.

Kane didn’t bother teasing her this time. He ripped the paper off. Inside the box was a toy grand piano. He laughed when he saw it. “Perfect,” he said.

“Until you get your own,” said Abby.

“Thank you.” Kane kissed her again, holding on to her tightly. “I love you,” he said.

Abby smiled. “Phew!” she said. “Can we have a larger budget next time. That was stressful.”

“We’ll need a bigger budget if you’re buying me a grand piano next Christmas.”

“Depends on how good your present to me is,” she said.

“Oh, I’m very confident in the quality of my gift,” he said, and he reached under the tree, brought out one of the two things he’d bought her. He handed it to Abby.

“Oh, great!” she said, and she ripped the paper off without ceremony, no teasing like Kane had done to her, just straight in. There was a white box beneath and she opened that, pulled out tissue paper and then the object itself. “Oh, my God!” she said, laughing as she held up a mug that said, ‘NEVER UNDERESTIMATE A WOMAN WHO LOVES A PIG’ and was decorated with four fine specimens of the animal.

“Marcus!” said Vera.

“What? She loves Flora, and she lost a precious mug, didn’t you?”

“I did, yes. I absolutely love it.” She put an arm around his neck, kissed his cheek.

“It cost me ninety-nine dollars, so I only had a buck left for this.” He gave her his real gift and sat back while she ripped the paper off that.

“Oh, wow!” She opened the book, looked inside. “It’s a first edition!” She looked up at him open mouthed. “How did you know this was my favourite book?”

“You mentioned it when we first got here. Said the house reminded you of it.”

“Oh, I did, yes! Gosh, I’d forgotten that. Clever you.” She pulled him into a warm hug, kissed his lips. “So thoughtful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Kane, pleased with the effect his gift had had.

“What book is it, love?” said Vera.

Abby handed her the book. “It’s Anne of Green Gables. It was my favourite book as a child. When we first came here your house reminded me so much of the house in the story.” She turned to Kane again. “I never thought you would remember something like that.”

“Big head, remember,” he said, and she smiled.

“Yeah.”

“That leaves you, mom,” said Kane. “I figured my presence here would be enough of a gift, but just in case it wasn’t.” He handed her an envelope.

Vera opened it, took out a business card, looked it over. “Eden productions? What’s this?”

“It’s the number of a producer in New York who can digitise all dad’s old video films of us. It’s all paid for. All you have to do is call him and he’ll come up here and go through them with you and make a proper film out of everything so you can have it on DVD or whatever you want.”

Tears welled in Vera’s eyes and Kane willed himself not to cry for the third time that day.

“Goodness me, Marcus,” she said.

“You can blame Abby; she’s making me soft,” he said.

“Thank you, son.” She enveloped him in a soft, pillowy hug, and he allowed himself the indulgence of being in his mother’s arms for a moment, before he broke away.

“That’s lovely, Marcus,” said Abby.

“I have something for you too, son,” said Vera, and she gave Kane a large manilla envelope.

Kane opened the treasury tag, pulled out some old papers tattered at the edges and a newer-looking legal document with his and his mother’s names on it.

The old papers had Green Acres Farm stamped on the front.

“What is this?” he said.

“It’s the deeds to the farm.”

Kane’s stomach did a flip. “I don’t want these, mom. It’s your farm.”

“No, it’s not son. It’s yours. It should be yours.”

Kane flicked through the documents. A year ago, this would have been his worst nightmare. Now. Everything was different, but still, it didn’t feel right; this was her home, not his. He stroked his chin. “I can’t accept this, mom.”

“It doesn’t have to change anything yet. All I ask is that I can stay here as long as I want, whether you choose to be here or not, and when I’m gone it’s up to you what you do with it.”

“I’m not going to throw you out of your home!”

“I know that, Marcus, but I want you to have control. It needs modernising, I know it does. I’ve resisted because it just holds so many precious memories of your dad and of you, but there are new memories to be made here. I want you to have that option if you want it, and I don’t want you to have to wait until I’m gone to be able to do what you want with it.”

“Oh, Marcus!” said Abby, and she looked at him with bright eyes.

Kane held the papers in his hands. This wasn’t just an asset she was handing to him, it was a future, an alternative to the one he’d always thought he would have, which was in New York. He had wanted to improve the farmhouse, but for his mom not for him. He could still do that, he supposed. It didn’t have to mean living here, not unless he wanted to...

“Thanks, mom,” he said, giving in, because it was a kind-hearted gesture and it was clearly making her happy to do it. He hugged her again. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too. You’re a good son. We can go into town before you leave, get it notarised.”

“Okay.”

Kane picked up the discarded wrapping paper and took it into the kitchen to put it in the wood burning stove. He stood at the kitchen window, looked out onto the snowy landscape. This was his now. He knew what his mother was doing. She was trying to encourage him to make a home here with Abby. She probably wanted them to have children, envisaged herself in her dotage, sitting in her chair with grandchildren playing at her feet. He couldn’t blame her for that thought, because hadn’t he had something similar himself yesterday? It had prompted him to tell Abby he loved her and led to everything that had happened since.

He sighed deeply. It was all so new and still so complicated. He didn’t hear anyone enter the room, so was surprised when arms snaked around his waist and a warm head rested against his back.

“That was a lovely gesture from your mom,” said Abby.

“Yeah.”

“Overwhelming, though, I bet.”

“A little, I guess.” Of course she knew what he was thinking, probably knew what Vera was thinking too, what all of this was about deep down. He wouldn’t be surprised if she ran for the hills.

“Nothing needs to change right away, like she said. It doesn’t have to make a difference, Marcus. Not if you don’t want it to.”

“I know.” Kane turned in her arms. “I would like to make some changes though, get some heating installed. Something sympathetic.”

“That would be a great idea. I mean, I love the fires and even the cold to an extent but having the option would be good, especially for your mom.”

“Yes, and the roof needs fixing, and some of the windowpanes need replacing.”

“You could do a lot to make her comfortable.”

“Yes.” Kane pulled her closer to him. “You always make everything look good.”

“You already had these ideas.”

“I know, but you make me want things I never thought I’d want.”

She kissed his lips. “I think I just give you permission to want things you’ve always wanted deep down.”

“Perhaps,” said Kane, which they both knew was as close as he was going to get to admitting she was right.

“Can I put in a request if you’re going to do the place up?”

“Of course.”

“Will you consider a shower in the bathroom? Everything else I love but washing in the sink or having a bath every day is hard. I miss my shower.”

Kane’s heart thumped against his chest at her words. They spoke of seeing herself here in the future, of taking part in the life of the house, helping to shape it.

“I’m definitely in agreement with that,” said Kane, the nonchalance of his words belying his feelings.

“Good. Let’s get some coffee on,” said Abby. “I want to relax and read my book before we have to get dinner.”

Christmas Day afternoon and they were all three in the kitchen. Marcus was setting the table and Abby was helping Vera put the finishing touches to the turkey. The phone rang and Marcus disappeared into the hallway to answer it. He returned a moment later with a surprised look on his face.

“It’s your mom,” he said to Abby.

“Oh. Oh, thanks.” Abby was both surprised and pleased that her mom had remembered to call after her ultimatum last time they spoke.

“Wish her a happy Christmas from us, Abby, dear,” said Vera.

“I will,” said Abby, as she went into the hall, thinking that might be the last thing her mom would want to hear. She picked up the phone. “Mom?”

“Merry Christmas, Abigail.”

Her mom’s voice was familiar and comforting and Abby smiled. “Merry Christmas, mom. How are you?” She could hear music in the background, and people talking.

“We’re fine, darling. The party is in full swing. I wish you could be here.”

“I wish I could be there too,” replied Abby, which wasn’t entirely true. She’d never really enjoyed her mother’s Christmas parties as they were full of people she barely knew who mainly asked her, impertinently in her opinion, about her marital status and whether she had children yet and if not when was she going to start, the implication being she was leaving it late, and they thought it strange that she was nearly forty and still unmarried. Many of her mother’s friends’ children who were the same age as Abby were on their second or third marriages.

“How are things in Ithaca?” said Elizabeth, and Abby could hear the distaste in her voice.

“Wonderful. We’re having a lovely time.”

There was silence for a moment. Abby waited for her mom to fill it.

“I see it’s snowing heavily up there. I couldn’t get through on your cell phone.”

If this were Vera Abby was having a conversation with she would have said good, or lovely, and asked what Abby had been doing, but Elizabeth obviously couldn’t bring herself to even fake more than a passing interest. Abby was tempted to tell her she’d spent a glorious night with Marcus, but she swallowed the feeling down.

“It’s barely stopped. We’ll be lucky to get home on Sunday.”

“You are coming home, then.”

“Of course. My life is in New York.”

“I’m not sure I know what you want anymore. Dante told me Kane has resigned as your Counsel.”

“No. He’s still my Counsel, only I’m paying him now.” She heard Elizabeth’s annoyed huff as she seemed to do it right into the phone.

“This is an unwise decision, Abigail. The man is influencing you in unhealthy ways.”

“He is not influencing me. I make my own decisions and no one, man or stepfather or mother, will make them for me.”

“I hope you’re not sleeping with him, because the conflict of interest. Well, I just don’t know where to start.”

“We’re not doing much sleeping,” said Abby, and the words were out of her mouth before she’d engaged her brain. It was her mom’s fault for winding her up. Her heart was racing now as her brain caught up and scrambled to decide whether she was relieved to have admitted it or had made a huge mistake.

Her mother sighed heavily, and Abby could picture her closing her eyes as she tried to centre herself.

“I don’t know what to do with you. You’ve made some questionable decisions lately but this one tops them all. Sleeping with your attorney! Good heavens, Abigail! Are you having one of those mid-life crises?”

“If I am, this part of it is hugely enjoyable,” said Abby.

“You’re deliberately provoking me now.”

“I’m not. Okay, well I am, but...” Abby put her hand to her face, rubbed her eyes. She felt exhausted suddenly; too tired to argue. “I’m happy, mom. In the midst of all this chaos, as my life is falling apart, he makes me feel happy, and warm, and loved.”

“So he’s a crutch, something to get you through these times. I suppose I can understand that. You’re vulnerable, and he’s there. I can see how that’s attractive, darling. I’m not completely devoid of feelings.”

“He’s not a crutch, mom. I love him. I’m crazy about him if you must know, and he feels the same about me.”

“This all seems very sudden. You barely knew him two months ago. I urge you, Abigail, to be cautious. Please, darling! You don’t want to make another mistake that’s going to hurt you.”

Abby softened at her mother’s words. She was only thinking of her, even though she didn’t know how to articulate that in a non-antagonistic way. “He’s not a mistake, but I promise you I will be careful. I know what I’m doing, mom.”

There was another brief silence. “Okay. You’re right, you’re a grown woman and if you want to go ahead and make a mistake I can’t stop you. I really hope I’m not here in a few months saying I told you so.”

Abby decided to let any kind of pithy response go by the wayside. It was Christmas Day, and she didn’t want to spend any more time feeling bad or wishing she’d said things differently. “You won’t be. I appreciate your concern, mom, and I love you and I’m glad that you called. It’s been nice to hear your voice on Christmas Day. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, darling. In the New Year I’ll come back to New York and we’ll spend a day together. We’ll go to the ballet if you like.”

“That sounds wonderful. I’d really love that.”

“It’s a date then. Merry Christmas, darling.”

“Merry Christmas, mom.”

Abby put the phone down and stood in the cold hall for a moment. One good thing to come from that conversation was there was nothing to hide now. Her mom knew about her and Marcus, and whether she liked it or not, it was best to be open and honest.

She returned to the warmth of the kitchen, and Marcus looked up as she entered.

“Everything alright?” he said.

Abby nodded. “Everything’s fine. She wishes you a merry Christmas too, Vera.”

“Oh, thanks, love. That’s nice.”

Abby smiled. “OK, where were we?” she said as she stood next to Vera at the stove.

They enjoyed a leisurely Christmas dinner, talking, laughing, drinking too much wine. Abby listened to Vera’s tales of Christmas in New York when she was a child. She was a gifted raconteur, and Abby could tell where Marcus got his silver tongue from. No wonder he could weave such a good story in the courtroom; he’d grown up listening to an expert.

After the meal, Abby and Vera left Marcus in the kitchen clearing up and retired to the parlour with an Italian dessert wine and small almond biscuits Vera encouraged Abby to dip into it.

“Oh, that’s good!” she said. She was feeling warm and floaty and in a happy place having put the phone call with her mom to the back of her mind. She curled up on the sofa with the book Marcus had given her.

Vera put some music on, an old singer like Frank Sinatra, although Abby didn’t think it was him.

“Who’s this?” she said.

“Dean Martin. I loved him when I was a young girl. Matteo, Marcus’s father, reminded me of him. I think that’s why I fell for him.” She winked at Abby.

“Does Marcus look like his father?” Abby figured he must do because she couldn’t see much of him in Vera. Marcus was dark-haired and eyed and olive skinned whereas Vera was fair. She had blue-grey eyes and there was still some of the original red in her greying hair.

“Oh, yes. Even more handsome I like to think.” She smiled at Abby then got up and rummaged in a drawer in the cabinet. “I have some pictures here.” She sat on the sofa next to Abby, opened up an old photograph album. “Here he is.”

She handed Abby a faded old photo of a tall man standing stiffly in a brown suit. His hair was dark and the profile was unmistakably Marcus. The long nose and the thin lips, the twinkle in his dark eyes.

“They are similar,” said Abby, looking closely at the photo. Even his stance was the same as Marcus’s. He looked uncomfortable, his nose in the air giving him a haughty demeanour, but those warm brown eyes gave the game away as to his true nature. It had taken Abby a while to notice the warmth in Marcus’s eyes; maybe it only came out when he looked at her.

“Here’s one of Marcus when he was a bambini.”

“Oh, my God! Look at his curly hair!” Abby smiled at the picture which showed a baby Marcus with a mop of dark curly hair, huge brown eyes and four teeth, two at the top and two at the bottom. “He’s adorable.”

“I know. He was the sweetest baby. Very good natured.”

“What happened?” said Abby, laughing.

“He grew up.”

“What are you two up to?” said Marcus as he came in from clearing up and bedding down the animals.

“Your mom is showing me your baby pictures,” said Abby, grinning in anticipation of his reaction.

“Oh, jeez, mom! I left you for five minutes.”

“Look how cute you are, Marcus.” Abby showed him the photo.

“You were such a beautiful child. Look at this one, Abby.” She handed Abby a photo of Marcus when he was maybe ten or eleven. His hair was wavy rather than curly, and his nose seemed big on his face, long and straight and imperious. He looked much more like the man standing in front of her with an amused frown on his handsome face.

“I see you’ve got Dean Martin playing as well,” said Marcus, taking the photo from Abby and looking at it. “Are you tripping down memory lane?”

“Maybe a little. Your dad and I loved Dean Martin.”

“I know.” Marcus went over to the record player, moved the needle to a different track. “Come here,” he said to his mom, and he held out his hand to her.

Vera glanced at Abby with surprise before getting up. Marcus put his arm around her waist and swung her around the room, singing along with the music, which was a popular song Abby recognised called Volare. It had a lot of Italian words and Marcus sang them fluently. Vera laughed as he twirled her.

“What’s got into you, Marcus?” she said.

“Christmas spirit,” he replied, “and a few glasses of wine.” He spun his mother back to her chair and she sank down into it, her face flushed. “Your turn,” Marcus said, turning to Abby.

He walked over to her, took her hand and pulled her to him. He held her closer than he had his mom, singing the Italian words softly into her ear as he moved around the room with her. Then he spun her out and back to him, and Abby laughed as she fell into his arms.

“You’re crazy,” she whispered as she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Crazy for you,” he said, spinning her out and in again.

She ended up pressed against him, and she put her arms around his neck, kissed him, forgetting for a moment that his mom was sitting watching them until she spoke.

“I’m going to put some coffee on,” she said, and left the room.

“Not very subtle,” said Marcus, smiling.

“She’s a good mom,” said Abby, kissing him harder.

“Mmm,” was all he said, and they swayed to the music, kissing, lost in each other. “I wish we were on our own now,” he murmured when they parted.

“Soon,” said Abby.

By the time Vera returned with a tray of coffees they were sitting demurely on the sofa, but Abby was feeling anything but demure. She was on fire with exhilaration after the last few minutes. Marcus was showing so many sides to himself this holiday, all of them surprising and wonderful. She leaned into him and he put his arm around her. She glanced at the clock. It was only nine o’clock; there was no way they could make their excuses this early, not on Christmas day. She put thoughts of being alone with Marcus reluctantly to the back of her mind and was glad when Vera suggested a game of Scrabble, because it would take her mind off how much she wanted him. She knew Marcus was feeling the same way; it was in his eyes when he looked at her, in the heat of his body squashed against hers, and the restless tapping of his fingers where they held her shoulder.

Vera announced she was going to bed an hour later, and Abby and Marcus sat on the sofa, listening to the creak of each floorboard above until all went quiet. Marcus jumped up, took care of the fire and locked all the doors and then came back into the room. He took Abby’s hand and led her up the stairs. He didn’t speak at all and Abby’s heart was racing as though she was a young girl again with the anticipation of what was going to happen.

He opened his bedroom door, led her inside, and then he put his arms around her like he had when they were dancing and they swayed to invisible music.

“I could hardly wait for this moment,” he said as he kissed her neck.

“Me either.”

Abby unbuttoned his shirt, pushed it from his shoulders, ran her hands over his broad chest, making him groan. Marcus’s long fingers popped the buttons on her blouse, and it joined his shirt on the floor. He kissed her, walked her back towards the bed without breaking contact and they fell onto it, rolling back and forth as their kiss became more urgent. Abby fumbled with his pants, managed to get the zipper stuck halfway down. Marcus’s hands were behind her back, trying to undo her bra without success. In the end they swapped tasks, and Abby took off her bra, pushed her pants and underwear down. Marcus’s pants were already on the floor by then, and he lay on top of her, his cock pushing urgently between her legs. Abby was tempted to spread them, to let him in, but she wanted more than that. She wanted to enjoy him first.

She grabbed him and rolled him over so he was on his back and she was straddling him. She bent her head to suck at his nipples, traced circles around them with her fingers. He moaned heavily, grabbed her ass and tried to position her over his straining cock. She rubbed herself against him as she stroked his chest, and then she settled lower, kissed his flat belly. He was slim and angular, his hip bones sharp, his cock stiff and rising from a nest of neat hairs. She laid it against his belly, ran her tongue up the underside in one swoop.

“Oh, Jesus,” he moaned, and she looked up to see him lying with his eyes closed, hands gripping the sheet. She circled the head, sucked it into her mouth, eliciting another long groan from him. He was vocal with his appreciation, which was both hot and useful, and she let his moans and words of encouragement guide her ministrations.

“I’m going to come in a minute if you don’t stop,” he said as she was sucking him as deeply as she could.

She let him slip from her mouth. “We have all night,” she replied, and his hips bucked involuntarily at her words. She fell into a rhythm of sucking and stroking him that had him groaning loudly and thrusting gently into her mouth. He cried out when he came, and Abby sat back afterwards, satisfied to see his cheeks flushed, his eyes dark and heavy.

“That was amazing. Thank you,” he said, and Abby scooted up the bed so she could put her head on his chest. He stroked her hair while he recovered.

“You’re a beautiful man in every way,” she said, stroking the hairs on his belly. “I love to give pleasure.”

“I love to receive pleasure,” he said, making her chuckle, then he wriggled out from beneath her suddenly, and she found their positions reversed, with her on her back and him straddling her. “But luckily for you, I love to give it too.”

He kissed and stroked every part of her body, taking his time, and Abby lay back and gave herself over to the sensations he was awakening in her. When he’d worked his way up and down both legs he finally got to her centre, and she let him part her legs, sighed with pleasure as his tongue licked her and his fingers stroked her and entered her one by one until she was filled, and he was fucking her slowly with them and flicking his tongue at her clit which was swollen and throbbing.

“Oh, God. Oh, God,” cried Abby. The slow build up made her head warm and buzzing, and then he increased his tempo, pressing harder on the root of her clit with his tongue while his fingers massaged her inside. Her entire body was warm and humming and when she came it was an explosion of pleasure and a release of pressure that made her break out in a sweat. She didn’t know if she cried out or how loud it was because she was lost in the moment.

“Wow, that was great!” said Marcus, a satisfied grin on his face as he looked at her.

“Understatement,” said Abby, and then she flopped back onto the bed to enjoy the remnants of her orgasm as her body slowly started to calm down.

“I don’t know how I got this lucky,” said Marcus as they lay in each other’s arms afterwards.

Abby didn’t answer at first, because there was a reason they’d been brought together, and although she knew Marcus wasn’t thinking about that, it was there in the back of her mind, whether she wanted it to be or not.

“I’m glad we have each other,” she said after a moment.

“Yeah.” Marcus nuzzled into her neck and his gentle kisses soon turned hot, and his hand was between her legs again, his lips wrapped around her nipples in turn. She writhed against his fingers, wanting more, wanting him.

He pulled her to the edge of the bed, knelt on the floor and spread her wide so he could get right to the heart of her. He brought her to the brink with his tongue and then he rubbed the head of his cock against her making them both groan. He pushed inside her, harder than he had the night before and she lifted her legs high around his back so he could slide in deep. They both lost control then, giving in to all the heat that had built up between them, all the need, all the desire.

They collapsed into an exhausted heap on the bed afterwards.

“You definitely lasted longer that time,” panted Abby.

“I told you I could.”

“If we keep up this pace I’ll have had more orgasms by the time we leave here than I’ve had in the last few years,” said Abby, laughing.

“You don’t pleasure yourself?” said Marcus, and Abby couldn’t tell if he was teasing or genuinely asking her. She felt herself blush, which was ridiculous given what they’d just done.

“I, erm, I meant orgasms given me by someone else,” she said.

“I see. So you do touch yourself, then.” He stroked the side of her belly causing ripples in her muscles.

“Sometimes,” she said softly.

“I’d like to see that,” he whispered, his words making Abby grow hot all over.

“If I can see you,” she replied, the boldness coming from him, from his confidence.

“Definitely.” He brought her into his arms, pulled the quilt over them. “We have a lot to discover,” he said.

Abby snuggled into him, her heart beating so fast she was sure he must be able to feel it against his chest. She felt challenged and comfortable in bed with him at the same time, which was pretty much how the rest of their relationship functioned. She hoped she could challenge him as well. He obviously had a lot of experience, much more than she did, but she’d been in a long-term loving relationship and he had not. There were things she could teach him, surprise him with, she was sure.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane and Abby's time in Ithaca is coming to an end, and decisions have to be made

“What’s your deepest fantasy?” said Kane as he and Abby lay in bed after a day spent hiking in deep snow up to Buttermilk Falls.

“To never have to leave this bed ever again,” Abby replied, turning and snuggling into him.

Kane put his arm around her, his fingers splayed in the small of her back, holding her close. “I think we both share that fantasy. Other than this, what’s something you like to do but haven’t told me, or something you would like to do but never have.”

She shifted against him. His question was uncomfortable for her, perhaps, although so far she’d been nothing but bold and imaginative during their lovemaking.

“I don’t know. I mean there are plenty of things I’ve done that we haven’t yet, but nothing kinky if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“It doesn’t have to be kinky. It might be a carriage ride through Central Park.”

“As if!” she said, looking up at him with laughing eyes.

“You like romance,” he said, kissing her nose.

“Yes, but not that. It’s cheesy.”

“I know. I’m glad we agree on that.”

She played with his nipple, rubbing it with her finger, pinching it gently. Her actions sent ripples of desire through Kane. “Erm, well. You know, it was pretty hot when you kissed me in that room at the club.”

He hadn’t been expecting that answer. Interesting. “You kissed me, but yes. What was hot for you, the kisses or where we were?”

“Both, I guess.”

“You liked the element of danger, of being discovered.”

“I didn’t really think about it at the time, cos I was caught up in the moment, but afterwards, yeah. I thought it was exciting.”

“Hmm. Well we could always do it on the kitchen table in the morning, before my mom gets up.” He smirked to show her he was joking.

“I don’t think the prospect of your mom catching us is a turn on for me,” she laughed. “I’d be mortified.”

Kane pulled her so she was lying on top of him. “We could still do it on the table though, when she’s out.”

She put her hands in his hair, kissed his lips. “We could do it on your table in your apartment.”

Kane stroked the swell of her ass, let his fingers slip lower towards her sex. “With some jazz playing in the background.”

“Yes, and you have to sweep everything off the table onto the floor before you take me on it.”

“Better make sure I don’t have my Irish crystal out then.” He sniggered, and she laughed, and then he pressed a finger inside her from behind and she gasped.

“Naughty!” she said.

“Yes,” replied Kane, burrowing beneath her hair so he could bury his face in her neck.

\---

The next day was their last full day in Ithaca. The snow had settled, and the day was clear. Kane was returning from dropping his mother at her friend’s house for the day, and the road had been passable. He couldn’t see any obstacles for their journey to New York in the morning. He was looking forward to getting back to work, to pushing forward with his quest to clear Abby’s name, but for the first time in his life he didn’t want to leave the farm. This had been a magical week, the best week of his life by far. He didn’t want it to end, he didn’t want to go back to life as it was before. Abby was in denial that it was their last day, so they hadn’t discussed what they were going to do when they got back. Were they going to go to their separate homes? See each other on dates like normal people? He’d got used to being with her all the time, to sharing his bed with her, to making love every night and every morning. He didn’t want to give that up.

He parked the Jeep and went into the house. Abby was in the kitchen, and there was a pan of something herby on the stove and she was kneading dough on the table.

“Hi,” he said, softly as she didn’t seem to have heard him come in and he didn’t want to startle her.

She looked up, smiled broadly. “Hi. Everything go okay?”

Kane went up to her, put his arms around her from behind and kissed her cheek. “Yes, it was fine. What are you up to?”

“I’m making one of your mom’s recipes as a thank you for everything she’s done this week.”

“I see.” Kane suspected she was also using it as a distraction to keep from thinking about the return to New York. “That’s a lovely gesture.”

She turned in his arms, held her floury hands in the air behind his neck and kissed him. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Can I help at all?”

“No, I’m okay.”

Kane put his hands around her waist, and they kissed for a long minute before he stood back. “I’ll let you get on with your process.”

“What are you going to do?”

“There are some tools to fix and sharpen. I’ll probably be in the barn.”

“I’ll see you later, then.” She kissed him again then turned back to her dough.

Kane paused to look at her when he reached the door. She’d tied back part of her hair so it was off her face, but long strands were still dangling in her eyes and she pushed them away with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of flour across her forehead. His stomach flipped. This was what it was to love someone truly. To come home to them and be welcomed and missed and loved. To want them whether they were covered in flour or mud or shower fresh, dressed to the nines or with their pyjamas tucked into their wellingtons. It made his heart thump painfully to look at her and feel all of this. It was still new, still wondrous.

She looked up, saw with surprise that he was still there. “What are you doing?”

“I just realised I hadn’t said I love you yet today.”

“You goose!” she said, smiling. “I love you too. Now go leave me alone.”

Kane had no idea how long he’d been in the barn when the door creaked open and Abby walked in, but it must have been a while because the glimpse of the sky he got from behind her was a pinky orange colour.

“Hi,” he said. “What time is it?”

“Three.” Abby came towards him. Her hair was still pinned back but her face was clean and there was no trace of flour. She was wearing the wellingtons he’d bought her and her red jacket.

“Oh, crap! My mom! I have to go get her.” He put down the axe he was sharpening and straightened up, his back aching from bending over the lathe.

“Don’t worry. Your mom called. Her friend is going to give her a ride back so you don’t need to go and get her.”

“Oh, great. How did your cooking go?”

“Good, I think. Hopefully I’ve done the recipe justice.”

“I’m sure you will have.”

Abby walked up to him and kissed him. Kane put his arms around her.

“You smell like a working man,” she said, burying her nose in his neck.

“Sweaty, you mean.”

“Mmm, yeah. I like it.” She kissed him, her tongue flicking out to lick beads of sweat from his neck and his cheek.

“Jesus!” said Kane as her simple actions set him on fire.

“You taste of wood, and iron, and salt,” she whispered.

Kane picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He pressed her against the barn wall and they kissed hungrily.

“You know we could combine two fantasies here,” murmured Kane as he rubbed against her through their clothes.

“What’s that?”

“Your desire to have semi-public sex and mine to do it in a hayloft.”

She pulled back from kissing his ear, looked at him. “Your fantasy is to do it in a hayloft?”

“Since I was a boy. I always wanted to bring a girl back here. Never did, though.”

“Well, I don’t see how I can deny you a long-held fantasy. Not sure this counts as public, though. Who’s going to catch us?”

“The chickens are always nosing around in here. They could easily fly up and see us.”

She convulsed with laughter in his arms, and he chuckled as he carried her to the ladder that led to the loft, depositing her on the bottom rung.

“After you,” he said, and he enjoyed the view of her ass as she climbed the rungs.

The loft spanned the width of the barn and the cruck frame of the roof was exposed and honey coloured with age and layers of straw dust. It smelt sweetly of hay and summers that were a distant memory. Big round hay bales were scattered throughout, and Kane cut the string off one with his knife, spread the fresh straw on top of the wooden floor so it would be comfortable for them. Abby was perched on an upturned bale, her legs swinging over the edge.

“It’s beautiful up here,” she said, looking around.

“I used to lie up here in the summer, reading,” said Kane. He crossed to her, his pulse racing at the thought of fulfilling this fantasy with Abby.

He helped her down from the bale and unzipped her jacket, easing it from her shoulders. He moved to pull up her sweater, and she put her hands on his to stop him.

“Isn’t it a bit cold to be getting completely naked?”

“The snow is an insulator, and I’ll soon warm you up.”

She looked at him both eyebrows raised as though she didn’t believe him, but she took her hands away, let him undress her piece by piece until she was standing naked in front of him. Her nipples were hard peaks and Kane couldn’t resist running his thumbs over them.

“Don’t think that’s because of you,” she said with a smirk.

“It’s not that cold.”

“That’s because you’re still dressed!” She pulled his sweater over his head, unzipped his jeans easily this time and shrugged them down his legs.

Kane stepped out of them and his pants and then they both stood looking at each other.

“Beautiful,” said Kane, and then he took her in his arms, kissing her as he laid her on the straw. It was cold, and he covered her body with his to keep her warm, his hand between her legs as he kissed her. He was anxious to get her ready quickly but there was no need because she was wet and his fingers slipped easily within. She groaned, wrapped her legs around his back. He replaced his fingers with his cock, and she put her hands on his ass, helping him move.

He was getting into his rhythm when she cried out but not a sound of pleasure.

“Ow! Ow, ow!” She wriggled beneath him.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ve got straw pricking my butt.”

“What?” said Kane, laughing.

“Straw! Trying to poke in my butt! It’s annoying.”

“Oh! Can you continue?”

“Not like this!” She wriggled some more.

“You’ll have to go on top, then. I’ll sacrifice my butt.” He flipped them so he was on his back and she was straddling him. The straw was scratchy and annoying, but he was prepared to put up with it because Abby was laughing, and her breasts were bouncing and she was jiggling on his cock which was buried inside her.

“This is way better than I imagined it,” said Kane.

“Yeah?” said Abby. “Your teenage self imagined someone doing this, did they?” She put her hands on his thighs behind her, stretched her body out as she started to ride his cock.

“God!” said Kane in a strangled voice. “That’s a magnificent view.” He spread her lips with his thumb so he could find her clit, stroked it to the rhythm she had created, and watched her slide up and down on his length. She flopped forward after a while, put her hands on his chest, used him as leverage so she could move faster and harder. She was fucking him, there was no mistaking it; all he had to do was lie back, enjoy the ride. He managed to hold on long enough for her to come first, and her clenching around him brought a rush of heat to his cock and he sighed happily as he released inside her.

She lay on top of him afterwards, kissing him, not willing to lie next to him on the straw like she usually would.

“That was worth the straw in my butt,” said Kane, and they both laughed so hard she fell off him and ended up lying on it next to him anyway.

“Oh, God,” she said. “You make me laugh so much.”

“Good.” He saw her shiver and knew they couldn’t lie here any longer. He got up, held out his hand to Abby to pull her up. “Thank you for fulfilling my fantasy.”

“You’re welcome. The chickens didn’t catch us.”

“No, but they could have.”

“The possibility was definitely a turn on,” she said, laughing again.

They dressed and went out to feed the animals while they were in the area. Abby stroked Flora’s head while she fed her an apple.

“Back home tomorrow,” she said, not looking at Kane.

“Yes,” he said, and then he waited to see if she would say anything else.

“This has been the most amazing week. I never thought it would be this wonderful.”

“It doesn’t have to end just because we’re back in New York,” said Kane.

Abby sighed. “I know. I just... I don’t know.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes bright with tears. Kane pulled her into his arms. “We don’t have to make decisions now. We don’t have to be anything or do anything there that we don’t want to do. I love you, and you love me, and knowing that is enough for me.”

Abby nodded, and then her shoulders heaved, and he stood quietly while she cried in his arms. When she was done, she stood back, wiped her eyes and looked at him.

“I feel better now. Let’s enjoy the rest of our time and worry about New York in New York.”

“That sounds like a great plan,” said Kane, and they walked with their arms wrapped tightly around each other back to the farmhouse.

Vera was standing on the veranda as they approached, and they were enveloped in hugs and taken into the warm kitchen. Abby showed Vera what she was cooking and was soon lost in her final preparations for dinner. Kane went into the parlour, picked up his book but didn’t read it. He’d been prepared for a few different scenarios on their return to work, all of them involving whose house they would spend the most time at and how long it would be before they were living together. It hadn’t crossed his mind that Abby might not want to continue this at all, that she might think a more professional relationship was best going forward. She wouldn’t want that any more than he would, would she?

\---

Abby sat back at the table with satisfaction. Her Calabrian spicy chicken had gone down well and she’d made a rustic Italian bread to accompany it rather than the more traditional potatoes, mainly so she could try out the recipe. Marcus had taken a second helping and was now sitting across the table from her, his eyes drowsy with pleasure and probably because he’d eaten too much. They’d both worked up an appetite earlier, but Abby had been more circumspect with the amount she’d eaten. Marcus didn’t seem to care. He had a big appetite in lots of ways, as she had discovered, and wasn’t shy about enjoying the things he loved and letting her know about it. She loved that about him.

“You have a gift, Abby, love,” said Vera as she cleared the plates away.

“Thank you,” said Abby, pleased with the compliment.

“Let me help you,” said Marcus to Vera, although he showed no sign of moving from his chair.

“No, I’m fine, son. You and Abby go into the parlour. I’m going to clear up and do a few odd jobs.”

Marcus pushed back his chair with a groan. “I’m so stuffed,” he said as he followed Abby into the parlour.

“Your eyes are bigger than your belly,” said Abby.

“Not at the moment,” he said, patting the small, round protrusion the food had created. “Will you still love me if I’m enormous?”

“Of course. I’ll love you no matter what.”

“That’s good.” He sank into the sofa with a sigh.

Abby sat next to him, pulled his legs onto hers and took off his shoes and socks.

“Foot rub?” he said, sleepily.

“You deserve it.”

“Why? You’ve done all the hard work today, in every department.”

“That’s true!”

“I’ll do yours after,” he said, and then he laid his head against the back of the sofa. Within two minutes of her starting to rub his feet he was asleep.

Abby stared into the fire and stroked his feet anyway almost without thinking. It was rhythmic and comforting. There was silence other than the crackling of the fire. She’d found the quiet eerie on her first visit; now she enjoyed it, although it led to thinking which at the moment wasn’t such a good thing. When she and Marcus had first gone to bed together, she’d told herself to just enjoy it, not to worry, because life was short and unpredictable. They were already falling in love, so it didn’t seem to matter if they took it that step further, started a proper relationship.

Now, after five days as lovers, five glorious days, they’d fallen deeply, irrevocably into something that belied the shortness of its existence. What she felt for Marcus was deep in her soul, at least as strong as she’d felt for Jake, and she’d never thought she would have anything approaching that again. Was it the right thing for right now, though? Were they setting up trouble for themselves in the near future? It was impossible to know, and that’s what made it hard.

A noise seeped into her consciousness, a buzzing noise, and she opened her eyes, startled because she hadn’t realised she’d fallen asleep. Marcus was sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

“What’s up?” he said.

The buzz came again, from the pocket of Abby’s jeans. “Oh, it’s my phone. We must have service again.” She took the phone from her pocket. It was clearly catching up with itself because a number of notifications seemed to have come at once. She typed in her password, looked at the messages. There was a text from Niylah with a phone number for a new client, three missed calls from her mom and a text asking for Vera’s landline number and then another text saying she’d found it. The most recent text made her shiver, though, and she must have made a sound, or a cry, because Marcus sat straight up, put his hand on her arm.

“What?” he said, concern in his voice.

She showed him the text.

_I know where you are, and who your with_

“What the fuck?” he said, taking the phone from her. As he was examining the phone it buzzed again. “Jesus,” he said, handing it back to Abby.

_He’s not the man for you_

“What does that mean?” said Abby.

“It means they know about us, or they’ve guessed.”

“Was this about me all along?” said Abby, her heart pounding. “Was Rafael killed because they thought he was in the way?”

“No, it’s a distraction, because if that were the case, why would they frame you?” said Marcus, and he sounded so certain Abby believed him.

“They know about us. How can they know?”

“They can’t know. Somehow they’ve found out you’re here for the holidays and they’ve put two and two together. They’re trying to unsettle you.”

“It’s working!”

Marcus took her phone back. “It’s two different numbers.” He pressed a button and the phone dialled out.

“The number you have dialled has not been recognised,” said a disembodied voice.

He called the second number with the same result. “Damn it! Who knows you’re here?”

“No one really. Your mom, my mom and Dante.”

“Harper and probably half my office know I’m here but not that you’re with me. I told Sinclair you were coming.”

“These are all people we trust,” said Abby.

“Yeah,” said Marcus in a voice that told her he wasn’t certain about that.

“What?” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Is there someone you don’t trust?”

He chewed on his bottom lip. “No, of course not.”

Abby looked closely at him. “Are you telling me the truth?”

“What about anyone else in your mother’s household? Her staff maybe? They could have overheard a conversation.”

“I doubt they’d care what I’m doing. Cage may know I suppose, but we’re not close. He wouldn’t send texts like this.”

Abby stared at the text again. _He’s not the man for you_. That was such an odd thing to say. It implied there was a right man for her, and perhaps the sender thought it was him. Who could that be? No one had shown her any interest over the past year other than casual comments in bars and of course Rafael and Marcus. It was unnerving how this person had found out where she was. If they could, then so could others.

“What are you thinking?” said Marcus, taking her hand and squeezing it.

“I’m thinking we need to get back to work.”

“I agree.”

“We’ve let ourselves get side-tracked I think.” She looked at him nervously because he wasn’t going to like what she thought she was about to say, and she couldn’t believe she was about to say it.

“We’ve had a few days off that’s all.”

“It’s more than that. You’re all I think about.”

“And that’s bad? You’re all I think about as well, but that’s good, that means I’m extra motivated.”

She could tell from the look in his eyes that he knew what she was going to say and he was desperate to try and prevent the words from coming out of her mouth.

“I think it can lead to mistakes. Somewhere along the line we’ve been unguarded, and this person has noticed. If they’ve found out about us, then someone else could.”

He squeezed her hand harder; it was almost painful, but Abby didn’t think he realised what he was doing.

“We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Legally, no, but you know it’s morally dubious, and what’s more if the wrong people find out I will be vilified. If you as a defence lawyer found out I as prosecutor was sleeping with my client what would you do?”

He let out an anguished sigh. “I’d destroy you,” he whispered.

Tears welled and Abby couldn’t stop them dripping down her cheeks and splashing onto their clasped hands. “What kind of woman sleeps with her lawyer when she’s on trial for murdering her boyfriend? If she can do that then what else is she capable of? She’s a whore, she’ll do anything to save herself, she has no morals, if she can sleep with her lawyer to help get her off a charge then she can kill her boyfriend for trying to ruin her career.”

“Abby,” Marcus said, tears welling in his own eyes, which shocked her and made her want to take him in her arms and hold him and tell him that it would be okay, that she wasn’t thinking straight, but she was. She had to stay determined.

“They’ll take what we have, Marcus, and they’ll turn it into something dirty and horrible and wrong. No one will believe we’re in love. They won’t even care. We’ll be a juicy scandal and nothing you can do will save me. My life will be over.” She sobbed the last few words out because now that she’d said this out loud it all sounded too awful, too final, and it was heart-breaking.

Marcus pulled her into his arms, rocking her, kissing her hair, stroking it, holding her tight. “I love you. These last few days... I want us to make a life together. I don’t know if I can let you go. I... I can’t do it.”

“It’s not forever,” Abby gripped him tightly, crying uncontrollably into his hair.

They held each other without speaking, and then Marcus pulled away. He took her face in his hands, kissed her lips softly. “You’re everything to me.”

“You’re everything to me too,” said Abby, her heart swelling at his words.

“I’ll do whatever you want. You’re the only thing that matters.”

“We need to focus. The pre-trial hearing is in three weeks. I know your team has been working full time, but I’ve been in denial about it; I realise that, and I’ve distracted you.”

“You haven’t. I...” Marcus trailed off, because there was nothing he could say. They both knew Abby was right. He smiled sadly at her. “I guess we need Holmes and Watson back.”

“We do. We need to put Operation Sherlock into action.” She returned his smile and he pulled her into his arms again.

“I like the sound of Operation Sherlock. The sooner we solve this, the sooner we can be together.”

“Yes. No more hiding away here. We face it. We fight it. We win.”

“I’m glad I’m on your side and not against you,” Marcus said, making a valiant attempt at a smirk that only marginally fell short.

“We’re in this together, like you said at the hotel.”

“Always.” He kissed her and then lay full length on the sofa making room for Abby next to him.

By the time Vera came in with coffees for them all, Abby’s tears had dried and she was feeling positive. It wasn’t as if they weren’t going to see each other, and she should look on the hearing as an opportunity to inflict some wounds on the prosecution, win some battles. Maybe the war would be over before it had begun. She had to think more like Marcus, lawyer Marcus at least. Be ruthless. Bold. Care less for the opposition. It was time to get into the fight.

\---

In bed that night Kane lay awake listening to the sound of the wind in the trees outside his window. The fire was waning but every now and then a gust of wind would shoot down the chimney and spark it into life. Abby was asleep next to him, her arm flung over his stomach, her long hair hiding her face. They’d made a kind of desperate love earlier. No teasing, no jokes, no laughter. It was painful if he was honest, because it felt like the last time, WAS the last time, at least for now. Of course, they might wake and make love again in the morning, but he doubted it. Tonight was the end of their relationship as it currently stood. Tomorrow was the start of a new phase.

He'd known what was coming when she started talking to him, had known it since they’d stood with Flora, but it was surprising how resistant he’d been to the idea. When the prospect of losing her, however temporarily, was there in front of him he hadn’t been able to keep his cool as he should have done. He should have supported her wishes straight away; instead he’d told her he wanted to make a life with her, that he couldn’t let go. That had been unfair, on both of them. The heart, or the soul, or whatever you wanted to call the chemical reactions she stirred in him, was a strange thing. No matter how much his head told him it was just for a few months, and that only three months ago he hadn’t even known her properly, his heart didn’t care. He’d tasted life with her now, and he only wanted more.

He sighed. It was for the best. Once they got home and got fully into the trial preparation there wouldn’t be time to think about all of this. He’d put everything into work, sublimate his feelings and his desires like he always had. They’d see each other all the time anyway. It would all work out fine.

\---

The next morning Kane stood with his mother in the kitchen, clearing the breakfast dishes like he had the first time he’d brought Abby here. Like that time, she’d gone out to feed the animals and see Flora one last time.

“I think you’re doing the right thing, Marcus. I know it must be hard.”

“I’m glad you told me to take my chance with her. I wouldn’t swap these few days for anything.”

“She’s wonderful, and she’s worth waiting for.”

“I know.”

Vera kissed his cheek, then pulled him into a hug. Kane held her tight. “Thank you, mom,” he said.

“You’re a good boy,” she said, patting his cheek.

Kane stared out of the window. There was still no sign of Abby and they had to get on the road. “I’m going to go and look for her,” he said.

He pulled on his boots and trudged through the snow towards the barn. Abby was standing outside Flora’s pen, her arms wrapped around herself, her breath puffing white in the air. She was wearing the hat and scarf Vera had knitted for her and the sight only made Kane’s heart beat faster. He took a deep breath.

“Hey,” he said, standing next to her.

She glanced up at him before turning back to the pen. “Hey.”

“Are you okay?”

“You told me you loved me on this spot,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“We made love in the barn.”

“Scaring the chickens,” said Kane, not wanting her to slip too deeply into a melancholy.

“This is so hard!” she said with a hitch in her voice.

Kane put his hands on her shoulders, turned her to face him. “We’re going to come back here. The minute you’re free we’re going to get in the Jeep and we’re going to come up here. We’ll fix up the house together. We’ll get the heating and the shower installed and we can paint our room. It can be our project.”

“I’d love that,” she said quietly.

“We could take the whole summer off, have some fun.”

“Go to Toronto!”

“Yes. We can have a vacation from our vacation in Toronto. We’ll get a lake house or something.”

“Okay.” She flung her arms around him, buried her face in his neck.

“It won’t be long,” he whispered.

“No.”

They kissed one last time, and then they walked hand in hand back to the house. Vera was waiting for them on the veranda and she hugged Abby while Kane put their bags in the car.

“Thank you so much for everything,” said Abby. “I’ve really enjoyed staying with you and you’ve been so kind and welcoming.”

“It’s been a pleasure having you here. I’ve put some treats in a bag for you. Things to cook with.”

“Thank you,” said Abby, wiping her eyes.

“Look after each other,” said Vera as Kane gave her a last hug.

“We will. I love you, mom.”

“I love you both,” she replied, causing Abby to dissolve into tears.

Kane opened the car door and helped her in. He got in the driver’s side, looked across to Abby, who had wiped her eyes again. “Home,” he said.

“Let’s go,” she replied.

Kane put the car into drive and headed down the rutted track. Traffic was light and they were back in New York less than five hours later. Five hours, and yet it had felt like a world away. He pulled up outside Abby’s town house and they sat in silence in the car. Kane felt as though a weight was lying on him, squeezing all his vital organs until it was painful.

“I’d better go,” said Abby.

“I’ll get your bags.” Kane pulled her bags from the back seat and walked to her front door. She opened it and they went inside. He dropped the bags on the floor and they stood looking at each other. “Are you going to the clinic tomorrow?” he said.

“In the morning. I have a new client to meet.”

“Come to my office in the afternoon if you want. We can catch up on what’s happened while we were away.”

“Okay. That’s a good idea.” There was a pile of mail on the floor and she bent to pick it up.

“Is there anything...?” said Kane, thinking about the letter she’d received before they went away.

Abby shuffled through the envelopes. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.” She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears again.

Kane pulled her into a hug, held her, swayed with her until it became too much like the night they’d danced together and he had to stop. “I love you so much,” he said, kissing her forehead.

“I love you too. Thank you for a wonderful week.”

Kane nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He opened the door, stepped outside. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he managed, and then he walked down the path and out to his car.

Back at his apartment later and he lay on the sofa with his third beer. He wanted to get drunk but there was too much to do the following day and he needed to be as sharp as possible. This would have to be his last one. He picked up the toy piano Abby had bought him, ran his fingers over the tiny keys and sighed. He returned it to the coffee table. The street sign was leaning against the wall next to him and his heart felt both warm and heavy when he looked at it. Such an interesting and thoughtful gift from Abby. The first thing she’d bought him. He’d have to find a mount for it. Sinclair was good at that kind of thing; he’d ask him about it tomorrow.

He was watching a rerun of a game he’d missed while he was away when his phone buzzed. It was a Facetime request from Abby. He answered it.

“It’s me,” she said, smiling at him shyly.

“Hey you.”

“I was missing you.”

“I was missing you too.”

“What are you doing?”

“Watching an old game. What are you doing?”

“I’m just chilling on my sofa drinking a coffee from my new mug.” The pig mug appeared in view and he heard her laugh in the background. “I have my feet up, but there’s no one to rub them.”

“You’ll have to imagine me there then.”

“Oh, I am.”

“Really? What am I doing?”

“You’re just peeling my sock off really slowly.”

“Sexy.”

“Yeah.”

Kane grinned, settled back on the sofa with his feet up and the phone in his hand.

“What am I going to do next?”


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane and Abby get back to work and there's news from Sinclair.

Kane was in his office early on the Monday. He was so early the cleaners were still working, and the only other staff were two young women he didn’t know who looked like they’d pulled all-nighters. They glanced up at him bleary-eyed as he passed their desks.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning, sir,” said one. The other merely nodded.

He sank into his chair and pulled his laptop and all his files from his briefcase. He’d taken all of this to Ithaca with him, but it hadn’t left his bag. Abby had been right; he had been distracted, although he certainly didn’t blame her, and he wouldn’t change the last week for anything. He’d brought the piano with him and he placed that on his desk next to his laptop so he could have a reminder at work.

He opened his emails with dread, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. The courts had been in recess since Christmas Day and a lot of other people had taken the time off. Sinclair had covered for Kane and there was an email from him saying he had news and would update him verbally today. Kane hoped it was something that would push this case forward. Progress had been slow so far, and with the pre-trial hearing three weeks today there was no time to lose. He’d like to have enough information by then to get the whole case thrown out, but he needed something incendiary for that to happen.

He put his head down and got to work. At eight thirty his phone buzzed and when he looked at it there was a notification that a video file was available for him to look at. What the hell was this? His thumb hovered over the link for a moment, worried that it was a virus or maybe something from Abby’s stalker, then he noticed the name of the security company that had installed Abby’s alarm and realised what it was. He opened up the file and watched as Abby left her house, wrapped up against the New York cold in her knitted scarf and hat, swinging her briefcase. She walked down the path and through the gate and then turned right, hopefully to where her car service was waiting, and then the video ended. He’d completely forgotten her new system recorded all movement to and from the front door and that they’d arranged for his phone to be connected to it as well as hers. It was comforting to see her starting her day. She’d be at the clinic in a few minutes, and once she’d seen her clients she would come here, and he’d be able to see her properly.

He went back to work ploughing through his emails and managed to halve them before his door opened and Harper entered with a coffee, followed by Sinclair.

“Morning, Mr Kane,” said Harper. “Hope you had a good break.”

“I did, Harper, thank you,” he replied, not wanting to sound too enthusiastic because it would be out of character and cause suspicion. “I want a conference at ten, and ADA Griffin is coming in this afternoon to discuss the case. Can you get us some of those apple cinnamon donuts?”

“Will do.”

She left and Sinclair sat in the seat opposite Kane. “So, how was it?”

“How was what?” said Kane, although he knew very well what Sinclair meant.

Sinclair looked behind him making sure the door was shut. “You know what! Your vacay with the ADA.”

Kane couldn’t prevent a smile from breaking out on his face.

“I see,” said Sinclair, grinning. “You old goat!”

“It’s not like that,” said Kane.

“Yeah, right.”

“No, it’s really not. She’s... she’s special.”

Sinclair stared at him. “You’re not telling me she’s the one.” He mimed inverted commas as he said the last two words.

“I’m not telling you anything.” Kane shuffled papers around to indicate that was his final word on the subject.

“Spoilsport.”

“You can meet her yourself later.”

“Sounds like it would be good for her to meet a real man if she’s fallen for your dubious charms.”

“And that’s you, is it? I’ll have to see what Luisa thinks about that.”

“My wife already knows a good thing when she sees it. She chose me after all.”

“I can’t deny she made the right choice based on what I was like back then,” said Kane.

“It’s good to see you happy,” said Sinclair, a more sincere look on his face.

“Shall we get down to business. I want to hit the ground running.”

“Sure. My main news concerns Pike. I’ve found his dirty secret.”

“Oh, really?” said Kane, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “Do tell.”

\---

Abby headed up to Marcus’s office in a much better mood than she’d been in when she’d woken. It had been nice to be back in her own bed, but it had seemed vast and empty without Marcus, and he’d never even slept in it. She’d got used to him being there when she went to sleep and when she woke. She missed his warm, heavy body next to hers, his soft snores, his hands on her, his lips, his mouth. God!

Her new client had been a kid of twenty who’d got a rap sheet as long as her arm but who was charming and funny and he’d made her laugh. Bellamy had kept out of trouble over Christmas and there’d been a clumsily wrapped gift from his small daughter waiting for her. She’d opened it to find a Tootsie Roll inside and wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. These two events, together with the prospect of seeing Marcus, had combined to make her feel good.

The elevator door opened and Marcus’s assistant arrived to take her to his office. Abby could see him through the glass as she approached, his dark head bent over his laptop, his long fingers tapping heavily on the keys.

“ADA Griffin,” said Harper as she entered the room.

Marcus looked up and a broad smile appeared on his face as he saw Abby. Then he looked at Harper and the smile faded. This was how they were going to get caught, thought Abby. Everything he felt for her was in the smile he’d just given her, and if Harper had half a brain, which Abby was sure she must have to work for Marcus, then she can’t have failed to notice.

“I’ll bring two coffees,” she said, glancing at Abby as she passed.

“Bring three, and tell Sinclair to come in,” said Marcus.

He stood, came around his desk to Abby. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

He stood in front of her awkwardly, leaned in as though to kiss her, clearly thought better of it, and ended up patting her shoulder like he had that very first night outside the courthouse. “Can I take your coat and things?” he said.

Abby had to suppress a smile. He was floundering already and all she’d done was walk in. They were never going to keep this from anyone. The only way was never to be seen in public.

“Thank you,” she said, unwinding her scarf and handing it to him. She unbuttoned her coat so he could ease it from her shoulders. He stood close behind her when he did it, let his fingers brush against the back of her neck. She let out a soft moan at his touch. He hung her coat on the stand and she removed her bobble hat, handed it to him, their hands touching, fingers entwining as he took it.

“Abby,” whispered Marcus.

The door opened, and Harper entered again followed by Sinclair. Marcus hooked Abby’s hat on top of her coat while she stood rooted to the spot, goosebumps raised all over her body, her heart thumping.

“Take a seat,” said Marcus, indicating two chairs to Abby and Sinclair. Harper placed coffees in front of them and a donut in front of Marcus and Abby.

“Where’s mine?” said Sinclair.

“Get your own assistant to bring you one,” said Marcus.

“Marcus!” said Abby with a laugh, not realising how familiar that sounded until she saw Sinclair smile.

“It’s nice to meet you properly, Abby,” said Sinclair. “Kane has told me everything about you.”

Abby looked at Marcus with surprise.

“I have not!” he said. “Sinclair is my oldest friend, and I use that term loosely. He’s always thought he is funny, when he is not.”

“I know all his secrets, Abby, so if there’s anything you want to know, you just come to me, okay.”

“I’m not sure I want to know about his sordid past,” said Abby.

“Wise decision. Very wise.”

“If you two have quite finished!” said Marcus. “Sinclair has some news, Abby. It’s about Pike.”

“Oh, wow. Okay.” Abby took a deep breath, because this was exciting, but she also felt trepidation, and sadness that she’d been forced into looking into her former boss, finding dirt on him.

“Kane probably told you that he’s friendly with the people above him, particularly the Commissioner.”

“He did, yes.”

“Those kinds of friendships come at a cost. Lots of parties, galas, charity events. You need the right kind of suits, expensive shoes, to drink a lot of fancy wine, eat at the best restaurants, bid at auctions etcetera. That’s a lot to afford on a District Attorney’s salary.”

“Pike is always moaning about how much he has to pay his ex-wife,” said Abby.

“Exactly. There’s his ex to support, two kids, college funds. So I got to thinking, how exactly is he paying for all this? I found out he was gambling. Poker mainly. High end games with many of the same people he was mixing with. That seemed to go well at first. He was holding his own, and then the losses came and I don’t know if you’ve ever gambled, Abby, but it becomes a vicious circle. You have to gamble more to try and make up the losses, but the wins you get aren’t enough and you end up owing more and more and it’s very hard to stop the spiralling.”

Abby had never gambled, but she understood how easy it was to fall into a cycle you couldn’t get out of. “I guess I have some understanding of that,” she said.

“I know it exactly,” said Sinclair. “I had a blip a few years ago, didn’t I, Kane.”

Abby looked at Marcus, who nodded. “You got past it though.”

“Because of you.”

“I removed the pressure, that’s all. The rest was down to you.”

“What did you do?” said Abby, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Nothing, really,” said Marcus.

“He paid off all my debts and stuck me in rehab. I wasn’t as grateful as I should have been at the time because I didn’t really want to stop. Anyway, the point of that little story is I wondered why suddenly all Pike’s debts disappeared. Did he have a Kane to help him out?”

Abby was looking at Marcus while Sinclair talked. He’d paid off his friend’s debts, got him help, kept working with him, partnering with him, trusting him. Whenever she thought she knew all there was to know about him, he upped and surprised her. He glanced at her, his cheeks pink as though he was embarrassed she should know this about him.

“It was really hard to find the trail from his debts to his saviour, but I found it!” Sinclair looked at Abby proudly, and she smiled encouragingly.

“What was it?”

Sinclair paused for dramatic effect; his lips sucked in as he anticipated Abby’s response. “He borrowed the money from Luca Romano!”

“What?” said Abby, astonished.

“Yup! There’s no mistaking it. It was about two years ago.”

“Around the time I was prosecuting Emerson and Lake,” said Abby.

“That’s right,” said Marcus. “What’s more, Sinclair can trace a few dubious decisions back to that time. Cases that should have been prosecuted being dropped, and some that were taken to court but given to junior associates and rarely getting past pre-trial.”

“Juniors like Rafael, you mean,” said Abby, her stomach sinking.

“Not just him. Raven Reyes had a couple of the cases and others.”

“Right.” She looked at Marcus, because if Romano was this in bed with the DA’s office, there was an obvious question.

“I didn’t know,” he said.

“I know you didn’t know! I wasn’t thinking that.”

“It’s okay. You have every right to think it. You should think it.”

“No. I trust you. I trust you both. It’s just. If Romano is pulling all the strings in the police department and the DA’s office, then why was he even prosecuted for killing his wife? Why didn’t evidence disappear or witnesses or, I don’t know!”

“I’ve thought about this since Sinclair told me this morning, and I think that, you know, it was a high-profile case and if it just went away too many questions would have been asked. They had to go through with it.”

“And they hired you knowing you’d get him off.”

“I guess that’s why, yes, and the only way to maintain plausibility is if I don’t know anything about it and I think I’m defending him like I would any other client.”

“They put me in there knowing I’d lose to you,” said Abby, crestfallen at the thought she’d been a patsy. She saw Marcus nod to Sinclair out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m going to rustle up a donut,” he said. “I won’t be long.”

When he’d gone, Marcus came around to her side of the desk, sat in the chair Sinclair had vacated and scooted it closer to her, angling it so they couldn’t be seen easily from outside the room. He took her hands, held them between his.

“I don’t believe that’s the case,” he said. “They wanted it to look plausible like I said, so they put their best up against me.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Abby. You know me by now. I don’t lie to make people feel better; I’m incapable of it. You know, when you first cooked for me, I was terrified it was going to be awful and I wouldn’t know what to say and I’d have to tell the truth and you’d be devasted and that would be the end of us before we even started.” He laughed softly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Good job you’re an amazing cook or we’d not be where we are now.” He took her hand, bent towards it and kissed it. “You’re the best the DA has. You know you are. Don’t let everything that’s happening make you think differently.”

“I don’t. Not really. I’m just all over the place emotionally at the moment I guess.”

“I know. So am I, and it’s not something I’m used to believe me. You have me upside down and sideways, but I wouldn’t change it.”

“You have to try not to smile at me,” she said, and Marcus looked perplexed.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s all over your face, how you feel. Harper saw it today.”

“Nah.”

Abby nodded. “I bet you.”

“I can’t help it. You make me smile.”

“You make me smile too.” She stroked his hand, then pulled away before Sinclair returned. “It’s great news about Pike. Who would have thought Luca Romano was behind it all.”

“Yeah,” he said, and his brown eyes looked sad.

“What’s up?”

“Finally found something,” said Sinclair, barrelling into the room with a chocolate covered donut on a plate.

Marcus got up, moved the chair back to its original place and retook his seat behind his desk.

“So, the question is, what do we do next?” said Sinclair, taking a large bite out of his donut.

“We have to see if we can link Rafael to Pike or to Romano,” said Abby. “We thought a while ago he might have been involved in setting me up, didn’t we?”

Marcus nodded. “Yes, and now we know Romano has something on Pike, it shouldn’t be too hard to find out what he had on Rafael.”

“I’ll get the team onto him,” said Sinclair. “We’ll look into his family and friends, everything about him.”

“I can’t help you with much,” said Abby. “I didn’t know him all that well.”

“I’d like my investigator to interview you about him, still, if that’s okay.” Sinclair wiped crumbs from his lip, washed his donut down with a sip of coffee.

Abby’s donut and coffee sat untouched on Marcus’s desk. She didn’t have much of an appetite after all that. She didn’t want to talk about Rafael either, but she had no choice.

“Yes, okay. Whenever you want.”

“My secretary will make an appointment.”

“Great.”

“Right.” Sinclair pushed back his chair and stood. “If you don’t need me, I’ll get back to it.”

“Thanks, Sinclair,” said Marcus.

“No problem. It was nice to meet you, Abby. I’ll see you soon.”

“You too. Bye.”

Sinclair left and Abby and Marcus were left alone.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“Yes. I’m fine. We knew it was going to be tough. It’s still a shock that’s all, realising all of this has been going on and I had no idea.”

“They hide their tracks well; they have to. You couldn’t have known. No one could.”

“I know.”

“Are you going to eat your donut?” said Marcus.

“I don’t know. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“It’s good. Really good. I’d eat it if I were you otherwise I will and then I’ll be even fatter than I’m already getting.”

“You’re not fat!” said Abby.

“My trousers were tight this morning.”

“We did indulge over Christmas.”

“We certainly did,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Idiot,” said Abby, laughing. She tore off a piece of the donut, ate it. It was good, better than good actually.

“Can I have some?” said Marcus, his hand creeping across the desk towards the pastry.

“No!” said Abby, slapping his hand away. “You missed your chance.”

Marcus sat back in his chair, picked up his coffee cup and smiled at her.

“Stop smiling at me,” said Abby.

“No one’s looking.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I’m thinking about you as well while I’m smiling at you,” he said, smirking.

“You’re hopeless.”

“Yup.”

Abby stretched out in her chair, ate her donut, trying not to smile at him and failing. “What are we going to do about New Year’s Eve? We were supposed to be going to the club.”

Marcus steepled his hands, pressed his lips against them. “We can still go.”

“I don’t think we should risk it. Too many people will see us.”

“The club is a safe place, I told you that last time we were there.”

“I know you think it is, but do you really trust it that much when you know what’s at stake?”

Marcus sighed. “Then you can come to my place. No one will see you there.”

Abby had anticipated this. He was reluctant to give up the opportunity of spending time together, but they were supposed to be keeping a distance apart from legitimate business meetings. Only one day into this new routine and she had to add Harper to the list of people who knew or suspected something was going on. If she wasn’t trustworthy then the entire office would know by the end of the day.

“I think we have to assume that at the very least the stalker is watching me. If they see me going to your apartment and not coming out until the early hours or the next day they’ll have further evidence and who knows what they will do with it.”

Marcus hit the desk with frustration, causing his laptop to bounce. “This is ridiculous!”

“It’s not ridiculous; it’s just hard. We have to try.”

“I want to spend the new year with you,” he said petulantly.

He was used to getting anything he wanted and being in control of his destiny. He was getting a taste of how Abby had felt since the day she was arrested, and she empathised with him because she knew how frustrating it was and how helpless it made you feel.

“We will spend it together. We’ll have to do it by phone.”

He pulled a face. “I can’t see you properly by phone.”

“Leave it to me,” said Abby, an idea forming in her mind. “Leave it all to me. Don’t do anything except be at home by six tomorrow night.”

His face told her he was struggling to get behind this or any idea she might come up with that didn’t involve them being together physically.

“Trust me,” she said, and then she stood, took her coat from the stand and put it on, not wanting to risk getting too close to Marcus because if he touched her again all her resolve was going to fly out of the window. She clutched her scarf and hat as she headed towards the door.

“Tomorrow, then,” said Marcus, still pouting.

“Tomorrow. It will be worth it.” She blew him a kiss then left before she could change her mind.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby and Kane celebrate New Year's Eve separately but together, and grow even closer.

Kane made sure he was home by six on New Year’s Eve. He placed his briefcase and laptop in the living room then jumped in the shower. This might not be a date in the conventional sense, but he wanted to look good for Abby, even if it was over the internet. He dressed in black jeans, a white t-shirt and a soft black sweater and groomed his hair into the shape he wanted, spraying it until not a strand could escape even if a hurricane blew through the room.

When he was satisfied with his appearance, he returned to the living room and pulled out his phone, opening the text Abby had sent him earlier that contained his instructions for the evening. He switched on his TV, navigated to the internet and downloaded the app for his security system which was the same as the one he’d had installed for Abby. He logged into his own cameras first to check it was working and could see himself sitting on the sofa. He looked up at the camera, waved to himself.

He wasn’t allowed to log in to her system until eight, so he busied himself setting the scene. He found some old candles in a cupboard in the kitchen and arranged them on the coffee table. They were plain white things for use in case of a power cut but he didn’t think Abby would be bothered. He picked out the albums he wanted to play during the evening, stacked them against his record player so they were accessible. He dimmed the lights, and then he sat on his sofa, picked up his book and waited.

At seven-thirty his door buzzed, and for a long heart thumping second he thought Abby had changed her mind and was here to see him. It wasn’t her; it was a courier with a large canvas bag. Kane took it into the kitchen, placed it on the kitchen counter and opened it. On top was a note in her neat handwriting with a list of dishes, oven temperature and cooking time.

_Dinner is served. Wait for me, though x_ the note said, making Kane smile. This was why she’d told him not to eat anything.

He took out three different sized dishes and removed the foil so he could see inside. The first contained crostini with pea and broad bean puree and pecorino cheese, which he wouldn’t have to cook. It smelled divine, and he dipped his finger into the puree so he could taste it.

“Mmm,” he said to nobody.

The main was baked ziti in a spicy tomato sauce and in the third dish was a baked custard with a caramel topping served in a glass jar. Kane put the custard in the fridge then he took a teaspoon and tested the ziti. Perfect. He was going to have to start running again once he and Abby were together permanently otherwise his jokes about gaining weight would be all too real!

At five minutes to eight he put the first record on and then he brought up the app on his TV and logged in with Abby’s details. He selected living room from the list of options and the room came into view. The quality was excellent, which it should be the amount the system had cost. Abby was sitting on the sofa and the camera was above her TV and he could see her clearly.

“Oh, I can see you!” she said suddenly, and then she looked up at the camera giving him a good view of her beautiful face. “Can you see me?”

“I can. You look lovely.”

She stood up, twirled, the red polka dot dress she’d worn at the breakfast flaring out as she moved. “Thank you! You look handsome too. Did you get my surprise?”

“I did, thank you. Did you get mine?”

“Yes. They’re beautiful. They’re on the fireplace but you probably can’t see them. Hang on.” She got up, walked across the room just out of Kane’s view and a second later he got a text showing him the flowers he’d ordered for her.

“Oh, they look great.”

“They’re gorgeous. I love them.”

“The food looks amazing. You’re too good to me.”

“I enjoyed spending the day cooking to be honest. Took my mind off everything. Have you been good and left it alone?”

“Mostly,” said Kane, looking sheepishly at the camera.

“I knew you’d struggle,” said Abby as she sat back on the sofa.

“I was honest at least.”

“Yeah. So, how was your day?” She curled her feet beneath her, reached for a glass of something.

“Hey, what are you drinking?”

“I’ve got wine,” she said smugly.

“I’m drinkless at the moment!”

“You’d better go and get something, then. I plan on getting tipsy and maybe not being a gentleman tonight,” she said, looking wide-eyed at the camera.

Various parts of Kane responded to her statement by throbbing. “I’d better catch up then.” He jumped up, went to his wine rack and selected a French red which he uncorked and brought back to the coffee table with a glass. He poured himself a large one and took a long sip. “Aah,” he said. “Cheers!” He raised his glass to Abby.

“Cheers! So, your day,” prompted Abby.

He told her all the things that had happened that didn’t involve her, trying to make it sound as amusing as he could. She laughed and drank her wine and all he wanted was to be there with her so he could feel her warm body next to his, smell her perfume, kiss her lips, wrap his arms around her and never let her go. They had to make the best of it, though, and plenty of other people had to go through things like this, people who worked away a lot or were ill or couldn’t be together for whatever reason. They weren’t special in this regard.

Once he’d finished his wine and convinced himself of the above he started to enjoy the evening. After all, last year he’d been alone not celebrating at all. At least now he had Abby, and he felt bathed in her love even though they were apart.

“It’s probably getting time for dinner,” she announced when they’d chatted for a while.

“I thought you’d never say! I’m starving.”

“We’ll have to eat on our sofas. You could see me if I go to my dining room but I wouldn’t be able to see you because there’s no TV there.”

“We can’t have that,” said Kane as he went to the kitchen to retrieve the crostini. “You mustn’t be deprived of my handsome presence.”

“You’re such a dork!” said Abby, settling back on her sofa with her starter.

“I’m extremely cool I’ll have you know.”

“If you have to say you’re cool, then you’re not cool.”

“But the cool and discerning Abby Griffin wouldn’t date someone who was a dork, would she?”

“That’s true. Only the best for me.”

Kane warmed at her words. He smiled as he ate his crostini. “These are amazing!” he said.

“I thought I’d start with something marginally healthy.”

“I’m going to start running again in the new year.”

She looked up in surprise. “I didn’t know you ran.”

“I used to. Haven’t had much time the last couple of years and I’m forty now. They say it’s harder to shift excess weight once you get to this age.”

“You’re hardly ancient! But it sounds like a good idea. When this is all over I’ll come with you. I like to run myself.”

“Great!” Kane was pleased to hear her talking about something positive in the future.

They finished the starter and he put the main course in the oven to warm up. They both took a drink at the same time and smiled at each other.

“We have half an hour,” said Abby. “What can we do in that time?”

“Well...” said Kane, smirking.

“If only you were here... What about charades or something like that?”

“Truth or dare!”

Abby shook her head. “I should have known. Okay. You go first.”

Kane linked his hands together, stretched out his arms while he thought. So much he wanted to know about her, so little time. “Okay. What turns you on the most?”

“Isn’t that for you to find out for yourself?”

“Oh! A challenge! I like it. Does this mean you’re refusing to answer?”

“I am.”

“Then you have to take a dare.”

“Bring it on.”

Kane thought for a minute. “Have you got a Sharpie, one of those permanent ones?”

“Erm, there’s probably one here somewhere.”

“Go get it.”

She hesitated, narrowing her eyes at him, then she got up and disappeared from his view, coming back a few seconds later waving a pen in the air.

“Okay. I want you to write ‘Marcus Kane is cool’ on your thigh.”

She burst into laughter. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.

She stared at him again. “Come on, Marcus!”

“Answer the question or take the dare.”

“Fine.” She pulled the lid off the pen then eased her dress above her knee.

“Higher than that, on your inner thigh. I want to be able to see it.”

“Oh, I see. It’s like that is it?”

“It is,” said Kane, his pulse starting to throb.

She sat on the edge of the sofa, eased her dress up her thighs slowly. “I’ll have to spread my legs a little to get the right angle,” she said in a low voice.

“You do that,” said Kane breathily.

She parted her thighs, giving him a glimpse of red, lacy underwear. Oh, jeez, was she in a matching set, bra as well? Blood rushed south at the image he conjured up, making his cock throb.

She looked up at the camera for a long second, then she wrote neatly and carefully on her thigh, starting right at the top near her panty line. When she’d finished she angled her left leg further so it was in full view of the camera.

“Can you see that?” she said.

“Yeah,” said Kane, who was now really wishing he were there.

“I’ll have to hide this from all the men I keep upstairs,” she said, pulling her dress back down.

Kane sighed at the loss of his view.

“Okay, my turn,” said Abby. “Who was your first kiss and how old were you?”

“Is that not two questions?”

“No.”

“Right. Erm, well my first ever kiss I can remember I was eight I think, and it was a girl in my class at PS186. She cornered me in the bathroom, and I was so shocked that a girl was in there I don’t remember anything about what it felt like, just that I was glad she hadn’t come in a few seconds earlier when I was peeing.”

He could see Abby shaking with laughter. “Oh, my God. You had your first kiss in the boy’s bathroom.”

“I’m just glad I didn’t end up with some weird fetish for bathrooms after that, although I have had more than one liaison in them come to think about it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s unsanitary in every way.”

Abby laughed. “Is that the strangest place you’ve done it?”

“This is your third question now!”

“You made me write your name on my body with permanent marker!”

“True. Erm, no, that’s not the strangest place I’ve ever done it.”

“Where was it?”

“It depends on your definition of strange I suppose, but the riskiest place was in the garage of my law professor’s house at a party while her husband was inside. I’m not proud of it now,” he said, starting to regret this game, because it didn’t show him in a good light, even though that was the old him, and she knew he wasn’t like that now.

“I don’t know what to say to that!” said Abby.

“There is no defence. In some ways I was a late bloomer and I guess I more than made up for it. What’s the strangest place you’ve had sex?”

“I imagine that’s to come,” said Abby, and then the timer buzzed on Kane’s oven before he could interrogate her further.

“Saved by the bell!” he said.

\---

If Abby thought eating their main course would save her from further interrogation by Marcus she was mistaken. He had no qualms about asking her intimate things about her personal history while chewing on his ziti and watching her intently. She answered honestly, because there was no point lying, even if it did expose the differences in their levels of sexual experience. 

“Are all the questions going to be sexual?” she said as she finished the food and put her plate on the coffee table.

“I expect so. I’m a tight ball of frustration.”

“It’s only been three days since we had sex.”

“I know, and I’ve gone most of this year without it, so you wouldn’t think it would be a problem, but I guess it’s you. I just want you all the time.”

He licked his spoon in a way that Abby wasn’t sure was deliberately suggestive or just a sign of his appreciation of the food. She felt warm at both his action and his words.

“It’s been even longer than that for me.”

“How long?”

“Three or four years I suppose.”

“You ARE picky!”

“I thought I was. Then I met you.” She smirked as she said that, and his deep belly laugh echoed around her living room.

“That’s good. I like that.” He grinned, and then he turned more serious. “I am honoured, though, that you chose me.”

“Marcus!” said Abby, surprised at his comment.

“It’s true. Every day I feel like I don’t deserve you, and when I hear you talk about what you’ve wanted in a partner, what you’ve waited for, I can’t believe you found it in me. I haven’t lived the best life, or been a great person, but I guess I must have done something good to have you.”

His words brought tears to Abby’s eyes and a lump to her throat. She took a sip of her wine to lubricate it. “I think you’re a better person than you let yourself believe, or let others see. I don’t know why you’re scared to show that side of yourself to others.”

“I guess I’ve always seen it as a weakness, and you know what it’s like in our line of work. If you show one iota of weakness to your opposition they will pounce.”

“You’re not in opposition in your personal life, though.”

“It’s hard to separate the two.” He stretched out on his sofa with his glass in his hand.

“I know. I understand that. You know, I think because you were always so tough, so unemotional in court, and whenever I met you like in the bar, when I first saw your caring side I was taken aback. It was surprising and also wonderful. I love all of you, but those glimpses you gave of this other side to you were what drew me closer to you, and I believe now it’s not a side, it’s part of who you are. You’re a man anyone would want as a partner, but especially me. You have a way of making me feel glorious, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters to you.”

“You are.”

“See. That’s a powerful feeling.”

“I know. You make me feel the same way, even though I can’t believe it.” He laughed softly.

“I love you. I love everything about you.”

He sighed heavily. “I love you too. God, I wish I were there now.”

“I wish you were too.”

“I’d be sitting next to you on the sofa and we’d be kissing.”

“We would. You’d taste of red wine and herbs and you’d smell like cinnamon and spice.”

“Like an apple donut.”

“Yeah.”

“You always smell like summer, like the promise of a beautiful day. When I kiss your neck I can taste your perfume sometimes. It’s intoxicating.”

“I’ll have to leave some with you, then you can smell it when you want.”

“Mmm, yeah.” Marcus groaned. Abby saw his hand slip to his groin and adjust himself through his trousers. She grew bold, decided to put into action what she’d planned when she’d dressed that afternoon.

“You make me so hot when you kiss me,” she said.

“Do I?”

“Yes. I love to feel your mouth on me, all over me.”

“God,” he groaned.

“I want to take you to bed,” she said in as quiet a voice as she could given their situation.

“How?”

“Do you have a TV and a camera in your bedroom?”

“Yeah.”

“Then go and log in there and I’ll meet you.”

He stared up at the camera for a long moment, his hand absentmindedly stroking the bulge in his pants. “Okay,” he said.

Abby drained her glass then poured another to take with her. She walked upstairs to her bedroom, lit the candles she’d placed on her bedside table earlier, turned the lights down so the room was bathed in a warm glow. Then she logged in to the app on her TV, selected Bedroom One from Marcus’s system. He was sitting on his bed, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

“You’ve taken off your pants!” she said, indignantly.

“Just to get comfortable. I still have my underpants on.” He pulled up his sweater and t-shirt to show toned stomach muscles and pinged the waistband of his black boxers.

“Good, because I want to watch when you take them off.”

“Are we going to do what I think we’re going to do?”

“You did say you wanted to watch me.”

“Fuck! Yeah, I did.”

“Now’s your chance.”

“You’re amazing,” he said, sitting up straighter.

Abby stood by the end of her bed, toying with the sash at the side of her dress that held it together. “So, we made it to my bedroom. What are we doing now?”

“I’m kissing your neck, tasting that perfume,” he said. “Then I’m making my way down to your breasts, kissing them.”

Abby ran her fingers over the swell of her breasts. “Here?”

“Yeah.”

“That feels good.”

“I’d want to ease your dress down, see what’s underneath.”

“You’re eager,” said Abby.

“I’ve had a glimpse; I want the rest.”

“You’d have to pull the sash, like this.” She tugged on the sash and the knot loosened and the dress came undone. She let it gape open so he could see her red lace bra and panties and looked up at the camera coyly.

“Fuck! God, you could just stand there like that and it would be enough,” said Marcus. His hand was inside his boxers, stroking his cock. The sight of him touching himself even though she couldn’t see it properly made Abby throb.

“Take your pants off,” she said hoarsely. “I want to see you.”

Marcus pulled his sweater and t-shirt over his head in one go and then eased his boxers down. His cock sprang up and he held it at the base so it stood up proudly. “Can you see that?” he said.

“There’s no missing it,” said Abby, making him smile.

“I’m wet for you,” he said, running his thumb over the slick head.

Jesus! Abby’s stomach flipped and desire shot straight to her clit, making it pulse. The feeling was so strong, it was like a shock to her system. She sat on the edge of the bed in case her legs gave way.

“You’re so hot,” she said, which was lame, but she was tongue-tied, unable to say anything more.

“I’d take your bra off next,” he said, coming to her rescue, or maybe he didn’t know what state he’d put her in, and was just desperate to move things along. “And lick your nipples.”

Abby pushed her dress from her shoulders, then fumbled at the clasp of her bra with shaking fingers. She wasn’t going to survive this. When she’d rehearsed it earlier in her mind he’d been vocal in his appreciation like he always was, but not like this. She’d never imagined him to say something like he just had, or for her body to react the way it was. She was pumped with adrenaline, quivering with it, and with anticipation.

She finally managed to free the hooks and she teased him, taking her time peeling the bra from her body. It was mostly to give her chance to calm down, but it had the desired effect on Marcus because she could hear him huffing his impatience. When the bra was discarded on the bed she tweaked her nipples with her fingers, making both of them moan.

“I can feel your lips and your tongue,” she said. “You’re sucking hard.”

“I like to do that; I like to taste you.”

Marcus’s voice was rough and low. Abby watched as he drew long strokes up and down his cock.

“What do I taste like?”

“Salty, and sometimes sweet. I’m massaging your breasts while I suck you.”

“Yes,” said Abby, and she held a breast in each hand while she was teasing her nipples, felt the weight of them, still firm enough, but soft, fleshy. In her hyped-up state, it almost felt as good as when Marcus touched them, but not quite.

“Put one hand in your pants while you do that,” whispered Marcus. “I want you to touch yourself.”

Abby slipped a hand slowly down her body, over her firm stomach, down to the edge of her panties. The words he’d made her write stood out boldly on her thigh, and she traced them with her fingers, smiling as she heard his sharp intake of breath. She ran her fingers up the seam and along the waistband, making Marcus wait, then she slipped beneath, through her damp hairs and down to where she was hot and slick, and desperate to be touched. She spread her legs wider, opening herself up to her eager fingers, moaning softly as she stroked herself. Her other hand kneaded her breast, and Marcus pumped his cock faster for a few thrusts and then slowed.

“I’m wet for you too,” she said, echoing his words earlier.

“God, I bet you are. I think I need to see all of you now.”

“When do I get to taste you?” Abby said.

“When you’ve shown me what I want.”

Abby lifted her hips so she could slide her panties down her long, slim legs and over her ankles. She held them up to the camera, dangling them for Marcus to see, and then she dropped them on top of the bra. She drew up her knees, kept her legs together.

“Now what?” she said teasingly.

“Spread your legs. Let me see how wet you are.”

Abby let her legs fall open slowly. Her heart was racing so fast now. He’d seen every part of her already of course, but this felt so wanton, putting herself on display for him, letting him take pleasure from looking at her. She ran a finger up and down her slit, teased her lips apart so he could see into the heart of her.

“You’re so sexy,” said Marcus, groaning. “So hot. I just want to dive in. I want to bury my face in you, my tongue, everything.”

“You’re so good at that. It feels amazing having your mouth on me, what you do with your tongue, how you lick me and suck me.”

“Jesus Christ, Abby! I’m going to come in a minute.”

“You can come if you want. I want you to.”

“Not yet. Not yet. God.” He squeezed beneath the head of his cock, took deep breaths.

“I’d better not suck you into my mouth then. I’d better not slide my tongue up and down your cock or dip it into the slit on your head. You might explode.” She circled her sex with her fingers, stroking her inner lips, making her clit pulse as she passed over the root.

Marcus gave a strangled cry. “You’re trying to kill me!”

“I’m just teasing you. You’re right, I don’t want you to come yet, not until you’re inside me.”

“I’m going to have to do that now. I’m going to have to bury myself in you because I can’t wait any longer.”

“I want you inside me. I want you to fill me. I want to feel you. You feel so good.” Abby was lost to this now. Her fingers were stroking her clit rhythmically, her other hand still tweaking her nipple, and she was so warm, already buzzing, already hitting that plateau of anticipation she always reached just before she came. Marcus was good at holding her there. She didn’t know if she’d be able to do it by herself.

Marcus was fondling his balls and stroking his cock with fast, loose strokes. His breathing was erratic, his words coming out staccato. “You’re hot and you grip me so tightly, squeezing me until I think I might die in you. I could do. I could die here. I could stay here forever buried in you.”

“Marcus!” cried Abby as she felt the heat bloom and spread throughout her body. She couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“You’re so hot. You’re so amazing. Fuck!”

Abby managed to keep her eyes open even though all she wanted to do was lie back and enjoy the huge orgasm that was coursing through her. She watched as Marcus’s hand slowed, the strokes he was making becoming shorter and more concentrated around the head. He came with a cry and spurted all over his hand and his belly. He was trying to keep his eyes on her as well, and his face was strained with the concentration, and the pleasure, his breaths short and loud.

“Wow!” he puffed.

“Yes, God!” said Abby.

“That was... I’ve never... Jesus.”

“You’ve never done this before?” said Abby, astonished.

“Not like this. Not with... No. Nothing like this. Nothing.” He looked up at her. “Thank you,” he said, like he always did, as though she was giving him a gift, which she supposed she was, as he was to her. It was the gift of freedom, of trust, of love.

Abby lay back on the bed, panting with the effort and the excitement, laughing with the exhilaration. “That was something else.”

“Fantastic,” said Marcus.

“Second best to you being here.”

“I’d rather be there but if that’s second best then I’ll take it.”

He lay back as well, and for a few minutes they lay together on their beds, miles apart, but closer than they’d ever been.

\---

Kane lay on his sofa watching Abby lie on hers. They’d had dessert and a glass of champagne and they were both too full of food and wine and general satisfaction to move or do anything like play a game. If they were together, they’d be lying in each other’s arms now, probably drifting into a snooze. As it was, he was fighting the urge to sleep because there was half an hour until midnight, and he wanted to see the new year in with her.

“What’s the longest relationship you’ve had?” said Abby.

They’d slipped into the truth only element of the game they’d been playing earlier, both too tired to bother with the dares.

“Probably this one,” said Kane.

“We’ve only been together a week!”

“I’m counting kind of back to when we first returned from Ithaca. I know we weren’t officially dating but it felt like it in all but name. So that’s, what? Two months?”

“You’ve never had a relationship longer than two months?”

“I’ve never really had a relationship; not like this one. I’ve dated people over a number of weeks or maybe months, but more like going out, hooking up. The past couple of years I got bored of that and there’s just been a few dates. There’s never been anything special like I have with you.”

“And you called me picky!”

Kane laughed. “At least I tried to date!”

“I had too much going on in my life for all that.”

“You’ve got too much going on now but we’re together.”

She curled her legs beneath her. “I guess you make room when you’re in love.”

“You do,” replied Kane, still experiencing a thrill when she said she loved him. “How long were you with Jake?”

“Eight years,” she said.

“Wow!”

“Yeah. I met him at Harvard when I was nineteen. He was studying Engineering, and I was doing History and Literature and preparing for the Law School. We dated all through school and then a year after I graduated he got sick and the following year he died. We were both twenty-seven.”

“I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

“There was just the loss of him, obviously, the loss of the life he should have led. That weighed really heavily on me, and I wanted to be the best I could to make up for that, you know, to live two lives I suppose, his and mine.”

“That’s a big burden to put on young shoulders,” said Kane, his admiration for Abby reaching new heights.

“It drove me at work, I guess, but I never managed to translate it to my private life. Didn’t have the energy.”

“I’m guessing he would be proud of you,” said Kane.

She smiled warmly at him. “Yes. I think so.”

“It’s interesting how we react to something like that. I was thinking when we were in Ithaca about my dad, and how his death affected me.”

“You were how old when he died?”

“Fourteen.”

“That’s so young to lose your father.”

“Yeah. I’d kind of pushed thoughts of him away for years, since it happened really, but then you started talking about my parents and something my mom said made me think about him and my reaction to his death.”

“When I came in on Christmas morning. You’d been talking about him then?”

“Yes. She was talking about how she wouldn’t change the time she’d had with him, even though it was so short, and she told me I should take my chance with you.” He smiled shyly at her.

“Aww.”

“I started thinking about how I’m nearly the same age as he was when he died. He was forty-four.”

“That’s no age.”

“I know! You don’t think about that when you’re young. Your parents are old, aren’t they, even though they’re not. I think that him dying so young has driven me all these years. Trying to be successful, to have everything I want, the life I want, not wasting it.”

“I guess we’re similar in that way,” said Abby.

“I guess we are. But I wonder if the reason I changed these last couple of years was because subconsciously I knew I was getting closer to his age and I didn’t have the things he had, things I’d told myself I didn’t want or need. Someone to love, a family, things that would fulfil me in a different way.” To his surprise he felt tears pricking his eyes. Why the hell was this coming out now? Because she was here but not here maybe. It was easier to talk when there was a physical distance between them.

Abby was wiping her eyes as well. She sniffed. “I had no idea you felt like that.”

“I didn’t either until last week. Well, I guess I did deep down; I just didn’t want to examine it before.” It had been brought on by his vision of course, the one of them as a family with a small child, but he didn’t want to tell her that. It was too much to put on their relationship when it was so new, unless she brought it up.

She did.

“Is that what you see in your future? A family.”

He wasn’t sure how to answer that in a way that wouldn’t force her to have to consider it as well. She might not want children, or think it was too late. She might have picked him because she thought this was the last thing he’d want and they’d never have to have a discussion like this. Of course, the longer he delayed answering, the more it told her what he really thought.

“I think it’s one future, yes, but not the only one.” His stomach churned as he waited for her response. These were the kind of discussions that could end relationships before they’d begun.

“I didn’t think a family would ever be in my future, so I haven’t thought about it in a long, long time,” said Abby.

“Like I said it’s only one possible future. I just want to be happy; I want to make you happy.”

“You do.”

Kane sat forward so he could see her better. “I’m glad.”

Abby looked at her watch. “We’ve missed midnight!” she said. “The new year is already fifteen minutes old!”

Kane laughed softly. “We talked right through it!”

“Yeah. It was wonderful to talk with you like that. Thank you.”

“This time next year we’ll talk again,” said Kane, grinning at her.

“This time next year... what will our lives be like?”

“I’m looking forward to finding out,” he said, hoping she would know he meant about them, not about her court case.

“Me too.”

“We’d better pour ourselves a glass, toast the new year.” Kane poured champagne into his glass and held it up towards Abby. “Happy New Year, Abby.”

“Happy New Year, Marcus.”

Kane took a sip of the warm champagne, then set the glass on the table. He’d had enough, and a new year meant a new start on his fitness, which sadly meant his drinking.

“It’s going to be quite the year,” said Abby, still sipping her drink.

“Yes, but it will be good in the end. I know it.”

“Because we’re in this together.”

“Yes. We are.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane sees something on Abby's security system that has him rushing round to her home

Kane was sitting in his office a week before the pre-trial hearing elbow deep in forensic reports and statistics when his phone buzzed with a text. It was from Abby’s security system and he opened it as he always did just in case. This wasn’t one of her clinic days and she was supposed to be working from home so his heartrate picked up as he opened the video. To his surprise he saw Elizabeth Griffin walking towards the front door, followed by Dante Wallace and a third person who he recognised from photos as Abby’s stepbrother, Cage. What were they doing here en masse? Abby hadn’t mentioned she was expecting them to visit.

Kane watched as Abby opened the door. He heard her say “hi!” in a surprised voice, so they mustn’t have told her they were coming. Interesting. She held the door for them and then closed it behind her. Kane was so tempted to log in to her system so he could see and hear their conversations, but he and Abby had an agreement to only use the system when they both knew about it or in an emergency. This didn’t class as an emergency, and Kane wasn’t about to break her trust. Still, it was intriguing, and an opportunity to meet Cage Wallace wasn’t to be passed up. They’d only just arrived, and if he got his car service, he could be there in twenty minutes.

He dialled Harper. “Get my car service now, and I want those documents Abby Griffin needs to sign.”

He packed his briefcase, grabbed his coat and went to reception, shrugging his coat on as he went. Harper had the documents ready in a file and she handed them to him.

“I’m going to Abby’s and then I’ll be working from home,” he said, and left without waiting for a reply.

The traffic was heavy and he sat impatiently in the back of the car as they crawled up Sixth Avenue. There was no reason he should be taking these documents to her as they were mainly invoices and reports that she usually signed on one of her trips to his office, which was the only place they were supposed to meet. She’d probably see through his ruse in an instant, but he had to try and that was that.

He walked up to the door and pressed the buzzer, praying she wouldn’t refuse to open it when she saw it was him. Barely five seconds later she opened the door.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, trying to shield the inside of the house from him, or the outside from her guests.

“I have some things for you to sign.”

“And they couldn’t wait?”

“No.” he pushed past her into the hallway, feeling guilty for not waiting for her permission, but he could tell from her demeanour that she didn’t want him inside the house, and he had to get the lie of the land, even if it was just for a few moments.

Elizabeth, Dante and Cage were sitting in the snug at the far end of the room, and they all looked surprised to see Kane.

“Oh, you have visitors,” he said to Abby.

“Yes,” she hissed, glaring at him. “This is not a good time.”

Kane ignored her, strode towards the group, putting his briefcase on the dining table as he went. “It’s nice to meet you again, Elizabeth, Dante. And you must be Cage.” He held out his hand to the young man and for a long moment thought he was going to be left like that, and then Cage took his hand, shook it limply.

“This is Marcus Kane, my lawyer,” said Abby to Cage.

“I know who he is,” replied Cage testily.

What a charming young man, thought Kane. “So what brings you all to New York on this bitterly cold day?” He pulled out one of the dining table chairs and sat in it. He could see Abby out of the corner of his eye, standing with her hands on her hips, trying to burn a hole in him with her glare. He was going to have some serious making up to do after this.

“Cage has an appointment, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to see my daughter,” said Elizabeth.

About time, thought Kane, as you didn’t bother to see her for her birthday or Christmas. He wondered what appointment Cage had, made a mental note to get Kyle to find out. “I assume you’re coming down for the pre-trial on Monday?”

“Oh, erm, well, no. It’s not as if we can be there in the room.” Elizabeth at least had the decency to colour slightly as she spoke. Dante just frowned at Kane.

“No, but you can be a support to Abby.” Kane was incredulous that they weren’t going to be here for the first and most important part of Abby’s trial. If he succeeded in getting the case thrown out they could celebrate; if the worst happened and all the evidence was allowed in it would be devastating for her and she would need all the support she could get.

“Mom’s got a big case at the moment,” said Abby, putting her hand on Kane’s shoulder.

He looked up at her. “Yes, but...”

She squeezed his shoulder, and Kane relented with a sigh he didn’t try to hide. They could come here for whatever Cage’s appointment was, but not for their daughter whose life was on the line. He put his hand on hers to show that he was acknowledging her wishes not to pursue the topic, and also to give her some comfort, and noticed Cage tense. His nostrils flared and his eyes grew narrow, so Kane stroked Abby’s fingers. He threw Cage a challenging look and was interested to see him shuffle in his chair, cross his legs. He glowered back at Kane.

“What’s your appointment, Cage?” said Kane, deliberately provoking him.

“None of your business!”

“Cage!” said Elizabeth.

“What? It isn’t any of his business.”

“I know, but you could be polite about it.”

“Why? He’s only her lawyer.”

“I have a name,” said Abby, “and so does Marcus. He’s my friend, so I would appreciate it if you were polite.” She withdrew her hand from Kane’s shoulder. “I’m going to make some coffees,” she said with a heavy sigh.

“I’ll come with you, dear,” said Elizabeth, glaring at Kane and Cage as she passed them.

Dante remained seated, watching Kane coolly. Kane looked from father to son. Cage was the opposite to Dante - dark-haired and eyed, two-day old carefully trimmed stubble on his face. He didn’t look like his father at all, apart from the attitude. If anything, he looked more like Abby. If Kane didn’t know they weren’t related, he would have accepted he was her full brother.

“What do you spend your time doing, then, Cage, if that’s not too personal a question?” said Kane, leaning back in his chair, resting one leg over his knee.

“It is,” replied Cage.

Dante leant forward in his chair. “I don’t know what your game is with Abigail, Kane, but I want you to know I’m watching you.”

As threats went, that was pretty tame. Deliberately so? Kane couldn’t tell. “You can watch me all you like. My life is an open book.”

“Why are you asking questions about me?” Cage edged forward, and Kane saw that his hands were clenched into fists.

“We haven’t met before, and I’m just interested in getting to know the rest of Abby’s family.”

“You’re not part of our family.”

“I didn’t say I was part of your family.” Kane found Cage’s statement intriguing. Why would he say that? “I’m trying to help Abby. Don’t you want me to help her? She’s your sister after all.”

“She’s not my sister,” said Cage.

Kane drummed his fingers on his knee, fixed Cage with what he hoped was a knowing look. “No, not by blood, but you’ve known her all your life, right? She must mean something to you.”

Cage shrugged; his dark eyes unreadable.

“I think she’s a wonderful woman,” said Kane, not taking his eyes from Cage. “Any man would be lucky to have her... as a friend, or sister... or something else.”

Cage rose from his chair, his eyes flashing, and Dante was quickly onto his feet for an old guy. He grabbed Cage’s arm, dragged him back down onto his chair.

“That’s enough!” he hissed.

“You’re an asshole!” said Cage, just as Abby returned with her mother and a tray of coffees.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she said.

“He started it!” said Cage.

“Are you both twelve?”

Kane held his hands in the air in a gesture of innocence. “I did nothing!”

Abby put the tray on the coffee table.

“Let’s go to my study so we can get this paperwork signed,” she said to Kane. “We won’t be long,” she said to the others.

Kane rose from his seat, grabbed his briefcase and followed her downstairs with some trepidation. She wasn’t going to be happy with him, and he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to say to explain his behaviour. There were no doors between the study and the snug above it, so when she turned on him it was with an angry whisper.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Sorry, I just. It annoys me that they don’t support you.”

“They’ve never supported me, and I chose to go on my own remember. My mom and me... our relationship is complicated and I’m not exactly blameless. But I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about before, when you just barged in, and the way you’re talking to them, especially Cage!”

“He’s a strange guy.”

“He’s a little odd, I guess, but he lost his mom when he was young.”

“I lost my dad and I turned out okay.”

Abby raised her eyebrows at him, making Kane smile.

“Relatively speaking,” he added.

“His mom died, and then he ends up with this new family and maybe Dante didn’t spend as much time with him as he could, and I was dealing with my dad’s death and Jake’s. It was a hard time for all of us.”

Kane felt some remorse for his behaviour as he listened to her. Maybe she was right; maybe Cage was like he was because of his circumstances. Perhaps he felt protective of Abby but couldn’t admit it, saw Kane as a threat to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry for barging in and for my behaviour.”

“Why did you come here in the first place? I know it’s not just for my signature.”

Kane let out a long breath. “I saw them. I saw them on the security video and, I don’t know. I was curious. I’ve been trying to get an interview with Cage for weeks now with no success. I thought it was a good opportunity. I didn’t really think it through.” He figured honesty was the best policy, because she was in no mood for lies and obfuscation, and he didn’t want to be like that with her if he could at all help it.

Her eyes softened, and Kane relaxed.

“You could have called me, asked if you could visit.”

“Would you have let me come?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head.

Kane put his arm on hers, pulled her gently towards him. She looked at him wryly but didn’t resist. “I’m really sorry,” he whispered when she was in his arms.

“Okay. I forgive you.” She looked up into his eyes and he bent his head and kissed her softly on the lips.

She put her arms around him, and he pulled her closer. They kissed until they were breathless and in danger of forgetting they weren’t alone and getting carried away.

“God, I miss you,” said Kane as they parted.

“I know. It’s so hard.”

“The camera sex is great, but it’s not like the real thing.”

“I know.” She slid her hand over the bulge in his trousers, making Kane groan.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured.

“Marcus,” she moaned, and then their lips were crashing together and her dress was above her waist, her panties around her ankles; his trousers were unzippered and halfway down his thighs, and somehow he was inside her and she was half on, half off the desk, her legs gripping his back, and he was thrusting like he was possessed, which he was. Their breaths were quick, hot pants of air, and Kane buried his face in her neck to quiet his moans. He nipped at her skin, kissed beneath her ear. Her hands were in his hair, gripping him painfully. She was thrusting towards him as hard as he was towards her. How the desk didn’t make a noise he didn’t know.

He slid his hand between them, fingered her swollen clit, stroking it almost frantically, because he was going to come, and he wanted her to do it at the same time. Her breaths were fast in his ear, her fingers tugging on his curls.

“Aah!” she whispered, and he felt her clench around him.

He came in a hot rush that made him lightheaded. They stared at each other, red faced, panting.

“Jesus Christ!” said Kane.

“I know!” said Abby, and then she laughed. “Oh, my God!”

Kane withdrew from her and she pulled up her panties, smoothed down her dress. He tucked his still-hard cock back in his pants gently, zipped them shut.

“Wow!” said Abby.

“I needed that!”

“Me too.” She puffed out a long breath. “Do I look okay?”

“Beautiful,” said Kane.

“No, I mean, you know. Do I look like I’ve just fucked you on the desk?” She laughed nervously as though she still couldn’t believe what they’d just done.

“Twirl around,” said Kane, and she did as he asked. “You look fine. A little pink in the cheeks, but otherwise no one would know.”

“Your hair’s a mess,” she said, running her fingers through it, trying to flatten it back to how it had been when he’d arrived.

“You’re fighting a losing battle there. These waves are only tamed by hairspray, and I think you wiped most of that off when you were gripping me.”

“Oh, God,” she said, laughing again. “They’ll know!”

“They won’t, and if they suspect, so what?”

“I guess. Okay. We’d better get back upstairs; I don’t even know how long we’ve been gone.”

“Not that long. It was pretty frantic.”

“It was.” She kissed him again, and he put his arm around her, drew her to him. It was so hard to leave her.

Kane had his foot on the stair when she stopped him.

“The papers! We never signed them.”

“Oh, yeah!” He pulled them out of his briefcase, and she scribbled her signature where he pointed and then he returned them to his bag.

They went upstairs and into the snug. The Wallaces were sipping coffee and glared at Kane as one.

“Well, I got what I came for,” he said, unable to help himself. “So, I’ll be going now. It was nice to meet you, Cage.” He nodded at Dante and Elizabeth. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

He walked towards the door followed by Abby.

“I got what I came for, you bastard!” she said with a smirk.

“Sorry. Did you see how they were looking at me? I couldn’t resist.”

She sighed though not unhappily. “You’re a goose, but I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll talk to you tonight.” He couldn’t kiss her on the doorstep with her family behind them and people walking past, so he winked, and smiled, then climbed into his car.

“Home,” he said, sitting back with a satisfied smile on his face. That had been a worthwhile trip in every way.

Two days later he arrived home late after a long day in the office with Abby prepping for the coming Monday. It had been a good day, and he was feeling confident. All his ducks were in a row and he was looking forward to doing what he did best – destroying the opposition. He picked up his mail, took it upstairs, put it on the kitchen counter while he poured himself a bourbon. He shrugged off his suit jacket, laid it across the counter then looked at the mail. A large manilla envelope caught his eye as it was meant to do. It had a printed label. He’d seen something like this a few times now. His heart thumped as he rummaged in a drawer for some rubber gloves. He put them on, got a knife and slit the envelope at the top before holding it upside down so the contents slid out. It was a piece of letter-sized paper and a single sentence had been typed onto it in bold uppercase letters.

**YOUR A DEAD MAN**

The same spelling mistake of the word ‘you’re’ as the texts Abby had received, the same envelope, label and font as the letters she’d got.

Kane took out his phone, photographed the letter then put it back in its envelope. He got a large baggie and put the whole thing inside, sealing it up then putting a label over the top with his name and the date and time. He photographed that as well, then he put the letter into his briefcase.

He stood with his back to the counter, took a sip of his drink.

“Gotcha!” he said, and then he smiled.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane visits Abby. It's time to tell her the truth. How will she take it?

Abby had just returned from her final day at the clinic ahead of the pre-trial hearing when her phone rang and she saw it was Marcus.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey,” he said. He managed to make that one word sound serious, and Abby’s stomach churned.

“What’s up?”

“I need to see you.”

“Okay. I can come to the office tomorrow if you want.”

“No. I need to see you tonight. I’ll come to your place.”

“You can’t, Marcus! We’re so close now. It’s only a few more days until the hearing, and we said we’d look again at the situation after that.”

“I don’t need to see you in that way. I mean, I do. Always. It’s something else.”

Now Abby’s stomach really started to churn. “Tell me.”

She heard him take a slow breath. “It has to be face to face.”

“Marcus, you’re worrying me.”

“There’s no need to be worried, but I do have to talk to you. I’ll come in the back way.”

“Over the wall? That’s a long way to fall, Marcus.”

“Don’t you have a ladder or anything like that?”

“There’s a stepladder maybe. I’ll have a look.”

“Do that. I’ll be there in half an hour.” He disconnected the call before Abby had a chance to reply.

What the hell was all this about? She went to her bedroom, changed into jeans and a blue sweater then hunted around in the closets of her spare rooms until she found the stepladder she used for changing lightbulbs. She lugged it down four flights of stairs and out of the rear door. It was cold, wet and dark. She went back inside, got her coat and a torch. There wasn’t enough room on the plinth for the ladder’s feet to be extended so she kept it folded and leant it against the wall. Then she retreated to the shelter of the door and waited.

Five minutes later she heard a noise and went outside. Marcus was peering down over the wall.

“Are you there?” he whispered.

Abby came out of the door. “Yes.” She shone the torch towards him and he put his hands over his eyes to shield them.

“Don’t blind me!”

“Sorry!”

“Have you got the ladder?”

“Yes.” Abby shone the torch at the wall and Marcus looked down at it.

“Jesus!” he said.

“I’ll foot it like I did in Ithaca.”

“I don’t think there’s room for that. I’ll just have to hope for the best. Here, take this.”

He handed his briefcase to Abby and then tentatively climbed over the wall. He hung down, his legs flailing as he tried to find purchase on the top rung of the ladder. Abby stood next to the ladder, her hand on his leg guiding him. He finally got a foothold, and a moment later was standing next to her.

“Nothing reminds you of how old you are than trying to do something like that.” He smoothed down his suit. “Hi,” he said, smiling at her.

“Hi.” Abby reached up, kissed him, and they hugged in the dark.

“Let’s get inside,” said Marcus, and he picked up the ladder and went into the house.

Abby locked the door and turned to face him. “You’re soaking!”

“I know; it’s raining,” he said with a smirk.

“Ha ha,” said Abby in reply. She led him upstairs, divested him of his coat in the snug then took him up three more flights to the bathroom. She handed him a towel so he could dry his wet hair.

He rubbed it, causing it to stick out everywhere. “You’re in the habit lately of messing up my hair,” he said, appraising himself in the mirror.

Abby felt a rush of blood at the memory of them fucking on her desk while her family was upstairs. “Maybe I just like it like that,” she said, ruffling his waves.

“Hmm.” Marcus picked up her hairbrush, ran it through his damp locks. “This will have to do.” He turned to her with a smile, and her heart skipped a beat.

They stood looking at each other, and Abby remembered he was here for a reason, and she didn’t think it was a good one if he was willing to risk being seen and injuring himself in order to do it. Suddenly, she didn’t want to know what it was, felt the urge to put off finding out a while longer.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” she said.

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble. We can get takeout.”

“No, it’s okay. I have some leftovers I can reheat.”

They sat at the small table in her kitchen eating bean stew. Marcus had opened a bottle of red wine and Abby took large gulps in between spoonfuls.

“How was the clinic?” Marcus said.

“Fine. We got one case dismissed and pleaded another down to a misdemeanour.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, that reminds me. I got some dirt on that policeman, Stevens, the one who arrested Bellamy.”

“Did you?” Was this what he’d come here to tell her? Surely not; it wouldn’t require this amount of subterfuge.

“Yes. The information came in yesterday but I forgot to tell you with everything.”

What was everything? The thing he’d come to tell her? “What did you find out?”

“He has a history of being overly aggressive with people of colour; his arrest rate’s disproportionate compared with his colleagues. He’s also been cited twice for misconduct but both cases were dismissed for lack of evidence. However, we found the reports and the circumstances are exactly like what he did with Bellamy.”

“That’s wonderful news!”

“Yes. You should be able to get the case dismissed with that and your CCTV evidence.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Abby mostly listened while Marcus gave her the highlights of a conversation he’d had with his mother. It was amusing, but she felt tense, and he seemed to be the same way. His laughs were small and forced.

After the meal, they sat in the living room with their drinks. Marcus was perched on the edge of the sofa, and Abby did the same. He took a deep breath, and she knew he was about to tell her something she didn’t want to hear.

“What do you have to tell me?” she said gently, because none of this was his fault at the end of the day.

He opened his briefcase, took out a plastic evidence bag containing a large manilla envelope. “This was in my mail last night.”

Abby’s heart raced as she watched him open the bag and the envelope. She knew what was in it, because she’d had some herself. Marcus tipped the contents onto the coffee table. Abby saw the four words that were printed in stark black capital letters on the white paper.

“Oh, God!” she said.

Marcus looked at her. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Marcus! Why are they involving you?”

“Because they’re jealous. They’re jealous of my relationship with you.”

“What? That’s... I thought this was about trying to intimidate me, make me plead guilty.”

“I thought that too at first, but the texts you got at Christmas. They were more personal.”

“I know, but I figured it was just a change of tactic. I’m not even sure these are related to my case. The more I think about it, the more I think they are just someone taking advantage of my situation to exact some kind of petty revenge, or I don’t know why.”

“I agree that they’re not related to your case, not directly.”

“Oh.” He was looking at her with a kind of pity almost, and Abby grew more fearful about what he was going to say. “Do you think you know who’s sending them?”

He pursed his lips before replying. “I do. Yes.”

A few names flashed through Abby’s mind in the moments after he said that, none of whom she could imagine doing this or being jealous of her and Marcus. So few people really knew her or cared about her at the bottom line. “Who is it?” she said, her stomach churning.

Marcus took her hands in his, stroked the back of them with his thumbs. “I think it’s Cage.”

“Cage? That’s ridiculous.” Abby laughed at the preposterousness of his suggestion. “Why on earth would Cage send things like this?”

“Because he’s jealous, like I said.”

Abby took her hands away from Marcus. “No. No, you’ve got this completely wrong. He’s my brother, and to be honest we barely know each other. Not really.”

“He’s not your brother, and he has feelings for you, Abby. I know it.”

Abby shook her head. She stood, walked over to the window, looked down at the dark street. Cage! She’d known him all his life and most of hers. She’d only lived in the same home as him for a short while. He barely spoke to anyone, including her. She turned back to Marcus.

“It can’t be Cage, Marcus. What makes you think this?”

“I had my suspicions it was someone close to you right from the start. I tried for months to get to speak to him but he refused and I had to wonder why. As you know, that’s why I wanted to take the chance of coming to see you when he was here. I, erm, I said some things deliberately to provoke him and it worked. He got angry while I was here and two days later I got the letter.”

“That’s not proof! What did you say?”

Marcus shuffled in his seat uncomfortably. Abby fixed him with a glare because she had no desire to make him feel better. He’d been playing games with her family, and she didn’t know what to think about that!

“I didn’t say anything much, just intimated that someone would be lucky to have you as a sister or, erm, something more. I was meaning him but I guess it could equally have been taken as me. He didn’t like that at all.”

“I bet he didn’t! You accuse him of wanting me, as good as tell him YOU want me, and you’re surprised he got angry? He was probably trying to defend me!”

Marcus stood now, came towards Abby. She put her hands in front of her to make sure he didn’t get too close. She didn’t want him trying to soften her up with whispered words and kisses, not while she was trying to process his actions.

“I thought that as well. I honestly did. When we were downstairs and you talked about his upbringing and how he’d lost his mother and been alone I thought you were right. I wanted to believe you were. I really wanted to believe it, Abby. For your sake. Then the letter arrived, and I knew in my heart it was from him.”

“I...”

Marcus held his hand up now. “Let me finish. Please,” he added softly. “Of course, I knew I needed proof. I would never have come to you if I didn’t believe it was true, if I didn’t have proof.”

“What’s the proof?” said Abby in a small voice. Marcus seemed so sure, and why would he lie? What reason would he have for putting her through this if it weren’t true, or he didn’t believe it in his heart like he said?

“Do you have any letters from him, or texts? Something that he’s written?”

“I don’t know. Probably. He sent me a text on my birthday. I might still have it.”

“Can you look?”

Abby pulled her phone from her pocket, punched the code in and scrolled angrily through her texts. What proof could a birthday message be?

“Here,” she said, handing the phone to Marcus.

“Hope your having a great birthday. Cage.” Marcus read.

Abby raised both hands in a shrug. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Look at the grammar.” Marcus handed the phone back to her and Abby looked at the few words closely.

The realisation hit her like it had when he’d handed her a photo of a crime scene many months ago, and she’d seen what should have been obvious all along. She looked up at Marcus.

“He’s misspelled ‘you’re’ as ‘your’.” Her eyes moved to the sheet of paper still lying on the coffee table. “No!” she said, and when she looked at Marcus again, she felt tears pricking her eyes.

“I noticed the spelling mistake; it was in many of the texts so I knew it was a regular habit. I managed to obtain samples of his writing today, some old school transcripts that were online, and he makes this mistake all the time.”

“Lots of people do,” said Abby, not wanting to give in to this flimsy piece of evidence.

“Yes. It’s circumstantial, I know, but I’d also wondered why he was here in New York, what appointment he had that necessitated his father and your mother coming down here with him, so I got my junior to look into it. It was an appointment with a clinical psychologist, one who specialises in antisocial personality disorder. I haven’t had chance to look into Cage’s history, but this isn’t usually a disorder someone develops late in life as you know. It’s likely he’s been treated for this for a long time. Did you know he suffered from this?”

Abby stared at Marcus, struggling to take in what he was telling her. Cage had APD and she hadn’t known about it; no one had told her?

“This was his first appointment with this psychologist,” continued Marcus, clearly taking her silence as an answer, “who is renowned for his treatment of difficult cases. I suspect there’s been an escalation in Cage’s behaviour recently, and that’s why they brought him to New York, to the specialist.”

“Are you saying that my mom knew about this? That she’s known he’s the one behind the letters? That Dante knew?” Abby’s legs suddenly felt weak, and she moved to the sofa, sank into it, her whole body shaking.

“I don’t know about your mom; I doubt it, but Dante certainly.” Marcus looked stricken as he said this.

Abby felt exhausted, as though she hadn’t slept for days and her brain was a fog through which nothing could penetrate. “It can’t be true,” she said.

“I still have a lot of investigating to do,” said Marcus. “What I don’t understand is how he knew about me and you. I mean, he’s never even met me; he’s had no opportunity to observe us unless he’s been following us, but it’s not exactly as though we skip down the street holding hands.”

As he said this, Abby knew that it was all true. Her stomach churned over and over and she thought she was going to be sick. Saliva gathered in her mouth and she had to swallow it down. She took a sip of her drink to wash the taste away.

“He knows because of me,” she said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“I told my mom. On Christmas day, when she called. She wound me up about you and I lost my head and told her we were sleeping together. I don’t know why I did it. To shock her maybe or shut her up. No doubt she told Dante and Cage must have heard about it. Oh, God!” She put her head in her hands and hot tears flowed down her cheeks. “It’s all my fault!”

She felt the sofa dip next to her and Marcus’s warm arms surrounding her.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

He kissed her hair, held her tight. Abby sat limply in his embrace; her tears turned to sobs that had her gulping in air. “Oh, my love,” Marcus said rocking her. “I’m so sorry.”

Abby put her arms around him and gripped him. They sat like that until she felt she had no tears left to cry. She pulled away. Marcus wiped her tears with his thumbs.

“It’s still circumstantial,” she said, feeling more together. “We’d get it thrown out in court.”

“I know. We need more evidence.”

Abby sat back against the sofa, shaking her head as there was still a large part of her that didn’t believe it. “If it is Cage, why did he start out threatening me about the court case? Calling me a murderer, trying to get me to plead guilty. That makes no sense.”

“I’m not sure why he did that. He wanted your attention maybe, or perhaps he wanted to scare you so much that you’d come back to Boston, be with your family, and him.”

“I couldn’t go to Boston even if I wanted to! I’m not allowed.”

“He might not have realised that, and I doubt he thought too clearly about it. People with APD are irrational, aren’t they? You must have come across them a lot over the years.”

“Yeah. Mostly your clients.” She laughed although she wasn’t really feeling funny.

“Very probably.” Marcus half smiled in return.

Abby sighed. “Okay. I need a minute. I have to go blow my nose and, I don’t know.”

“Okay,” said Marcus, and she felt his eyes on her as she headed up the stairs to her bathroom.

\---

Kane took a large draft of his wine to settle himself. It was distressing seeing Abby so upset and feeling as though he was the cause of it. It was Cage who was responsible, but Kane was the messenger, the one who’d investigated, meddled, destroyed everything she knew about the boy she thought of as her brother. He wasn’t a boy; he was a man, a disturbed man with an unhealthy interest in Abby. Kane wasn’t sure if she had grasped the seriousness of what Cage was doing, how he felt. He was a danger to her; Kane had no doubts about that.

The other danger was her stepfather, and when was he going to tell her about him, and how? All he had were suspicions and circumstantial evidence, but with the revelation about Cage and the cover up Dante had done it was time to get to the bottom of all of this, and for that Kane needed Abby’s help. He’d been hoping to wait until after the hearing, in case the prosecution’s evidence was dismissed and there was no need to destroy her life, but he had been kidding himself. The man was a threat to Abby and had to be exposed.

How was he going to tell her? She was already devastated, and this was far worse than the Cage news. She might hate Kane for investigating him and keeping it from her. He sighed. He was going to have to take that risk and live with the consequences. He’d try to ease her into it, not reveal everything at once. His suspicions about her father, for example. There was no way he was adding that to the pile of misery he was about to heap on her.

Abby returned to the living room five minutes later with a face scrubbed free of makeup, her eyes red-rimmed and her skin blotchy. She sank into the sofa, took a sip of her wine and stared at the faux fireplace.

“Are we going to confront Cage?” she said, finally turning to look at Kane.

“Is that what you want to do?”

“What choice do we have? I don’t want to involve the police because they don’t believe me anyway and we can resolve this within the family.”

Kane was relieved she wanted to confront this head on, not that he’d expect anything less from her. “I’m hoping he sent the letter to me in anger and wasn’t as careful as he usually is. My forensics expert has it and we could have DNA evidence by the end of the week, which will help us.”

“After the hearing, then. We’ll have to get them all to come to New York.” Abby sipped more wine, looked sadly at Kane.

“I’m concerned, though, about your stepfather and his involvement in this,” said Kane, his heart rate increasing.

“He’s protecting his son; it’s natural.”

Trust Abby to be generous and kind-hearted when the son was threatening her. What about Dante protecting her? She was his family too. She was too trusting, and he had to screw his courage to the sticking post and tell her the truth.

“Is there something else the matter?” said Abby. “You’re biting your lip and you look like you’re in pain.” She moved closer to him, put her hand on his. It didn’t feel right to take the comfort, but he couldn’t very well remove his hand without offending her.

“I think there’s more to it than that, with Dante,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You know I have been investigating him as part of my background on you. I’ve investigated everyone you know, or my team has.”

“I know, yes. I understand the need to do that.” She looked closely at him. “Have you found something out about him?”

“Yes. Yes, I think I have.”

Abby’s face crumpled again but she fought back the tears this time. “I’m not going to like it, am I?”

“No.”

She took her hand away so she could wipe her damp eyes and tuck her hair behind her ears. She took a deep breath. “Tell me.”

Kane told her about Dante’s relationship with Romano, the rumours about him, the conversation he and Sinclair had with Emerson. Abby sat with her hands in her lap, her face pale, and stared disbelievingly as Kane outlined his theory that Dante was behind Rafael’s murder and the plot to frame her.

“No, no, no,” she said when he’d finished. “This is not... this can’t be what you think. It’s crazy, Marcus! Have you heard yourself?”

“I know it sounds crazy. It is crazy! But I think it makes sense.”

“That’s the last thing it does!” She stood, paced to the window and back, standing with her hands on her hips looking down at Kane.

“You wondered yourself why they didn’t kill you. It would have been easier, saved all this trouble. The only reason you weren’t killed is because he loves you or he loves your mom, or he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. This is why it HAS to be Dante. Who else would care?”

“I...” She shook her head, let out a long, heavy breath.

“He just wanted you out of the way, that’s all. Get you disbarred with a sexual harassment suit. I don’t think he wanted any of this to happen. When you didn’t fall for Rafael the way they thought you would it was either get you disbarred another way or kill you. He didn’t want to kill you, so he framed you, and then he hired me to get you off the charge.”

“You really believe this?” Abby said, looking straight into his eyes.

“I do. I don’t want to, believe me. I don’t want any of this to be true.”

“But you think it is. Okay,” she said when he nodded.

She was still standing, and Kane was trying not to squirm because their relative positions made him feel inferior. It was intimidating, and that wasn’t something he was used to. He wanted to stand as well so that they were equal, but they wouldn’t be, because he was bigger and taller and could dominate her easily. He didn’t think she was trying to intimidate him deliberately; it was just the effect she was having. He remained seated, looking up at her, his hands on his knees to still his restless legs.

“I know it’s circumstantial at best, but proof is hard to come by as I’m sure you can imagine. I have a few irons in the fire, though.”

“How long have you been suspicious of Dante?”

Here we go, thought Kane. “I’m suspicious of everybody, you know that.”

“Yes, but how long have you known, or thought you knew, it was him?”

“Pretty much from the start, certainly from when we had the breakfast together. Something just didn’t feel right; I knew it in my gut.”

“He barely said a word at breakfast!”

“He said enough.”

She huffed out a breath. “We saw each other after you’d been to see Emerson. You said he hinted at a conspiracy, but you didn’t say who was behind it. I lay in your arms and you never said a word.”

“I wanted proof. I didn’t want to come to you with a half-baked case that was little more than my gut feeling.”

“You said you’d tell me the truth always. You said that right from the start!”

Her voice had risen in pitch now. She was hurt and angry and he was in front of her and an obvious target.

He stood now, because there was too much emotion in him to contain it folded up in his seat. “Abby, I didn’t want to hurt you. I knew you’d be devastated, and I wanted to spare you that. What if I was wrong? You don’t expect me to destroy your world for no reason, do you?”

“I would have had time to come to terms with it! I could have helped you if I thought it was true.”

He couldn’t argue with her logic. “I could have made that choice, yes. I was arrogant enough to think I could handle it myself and then I fell in love with you and it just got too hard to say anything.”

Her features softened, and she took a step closer to him. “We should be able to tell each other everything,” she said.

He wanted to defend himself, to say they were lawyer client then and he had every right to keep things from her, but he swallowed the words down. That wouldn’t be helpful to either of them.

“You’re right,” he said. He reached towards her, and she let him take her hand. He stroked the back of it with his thumb.

“Is there anything else you’re not telling me?” she said, and Kane’s heart sank. He hadn’t wanted to tell her this, but how could he keep it from her after what they’d both said?

His mouth grew dry and he had to swallow to lubricate it. “It’s just a suspicion,” he said.

“Oh, God!” She gripped his hand. “What is it?”

“Your father,” said Kane.

“What about him?” said Abby, frowning.

“I don’t think he died of natural causes.” He watched helplessly as all of Abby’s certainties crumbled in front of him.

“No!” she cried, and Kane had to catch her before she fell to the floor.

Hours later, he lay in Abby’s bed with her in his arms. He’d told her everything he’d found, all his suspicions and fears. He’d thought she would get mad again, but she was too exhausted for that, and had mainly listened, crying softly, while he’d outlined the next steps he thought they should take. Maybe it would come, the anger; tomorrow, or the next day, or a week from now. He’d thought she would kick him out when he’d suggested she needed rest, but she’d taken his hand and led him upstairs and when he’d got in the bed next to her she’d curled into him. She needed comfort, and he wanted to give her everything he had.

“I don’t think I can sleep,” she whispered. “My brain is too full.”

Marcus kissed her head. “Just try to rest, or we can talk, or play a game or something.”

“I’m not up to sex,” she said.

Kane suppressed a laugh. “Not that kind of game. A word game.”

She shifted in his arms so she could look up at him. “Like what?”

Kane had to think quickly back to his childhood, to all the games he’d been forced to play when they were sat in the farmhouse on long, cold nights with no TV and only the radio as entertainment.

“A-Z where you have to pick a topic and then name something that starts with a successive letter of the alphabet.”

“What?”

“Like if the topic were jazz singers I would start with A and say Louis Armstrong, and then you would do B and think of a name beginning with B.”

“Like Billie Holiday?”

“Exactly.”

“I can’t do jazz singers. I only know a few.”

“We can start with something simple like animals, or authors.”

“Authors sounds good.”

“Okay. Last names only, though.”

“I’ve got one,” she said, smiling at him.

“Go on, then. I’ll let you start.”

“Jane Austen.”

“An obvious one but correct nevertheless.”

“Are you going to comment on all of my choices?”

“Very probably.”

She tutted and Kane smiled and stroked her arm. “Okay, so B.” He tried to find the most obscure author he could think of. “Roberto Bolaño,” he said.

“Who?”

“He wrote 2666, a classic thriller about the unsolved murders of hundreds of women in Mexico. I’m surprised you’ve not heard of it.”

“This is going to be a long night,” said Abby.

Her arm curled tighter around him, and her voice rumbled against his chest as she ruminated out loud on a possible answer for C. Kane was pleased he’d managed to distract her, however briefly, and happy that she was trusting him, willing to be with him even when she was probably angry and upset and not even liking him all that much. He realised as he listened to her that he’d never spent the night in bed with a woman without having sex. Not once in his whole life had he been with someone simply because he loved them and they needed him. It gave him a warm feeling, despite everything.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day of the pre-trial hearing, and it's make or break for Abby. Will she and Kane be celebrating or commiserating?

Abby sat nervously in the car outside Marcus’s apartment waiting for him to come out. It was the day of the pre-trial hearing, something that in her previous life as a prosecutor she would have looked forward to. She should be feeling the tingle of excitement at the prospect of a good fight with the defence attorney; instead she felt sick and frustrated. She couldn’t influence much of what happened today, would be the subject of discussion rather than the lead interrogator, have to rely on Marcus to speak for her. That wasn’t the terrible prospect it had been the first time she’d seen him standing the other side of the bars in The Tombs. They were like one now; he understood her and what she wanted, and she trusted him to do the best he could, to be her voice, her advocate in every sense of the word.

They’d worked hard together on the evidence, and part of her had confidence in what they’d achieved, but another part, the part that was still reeling from Marcus’s revelations about Dante and Cage, was terrified that something else would come up at the hearing and blindside them. Had Dante really hired Marcus to get her off the charge, or did he have a trick up his sleeve? After a largely sleepless weekend spent thinking over everything her stepfather had ever said or done to her, she didn’t know what to believe.

She saw Marcus emerge from his building, and a couple of seconds later he was sliding into the car next to her. He put the privacy shield up as the car set off, even though it was only a short journey to the court.

“Hi,” he said, leaning across to kiss her lips softly.

“Hi.”

“How are you?” His brown eyes were full of concern, and he caressed her cheek with his thumb.

“I’m okay. Nervous, I guess.”

Marcus took her hand and held it between them. “Did you sleep any better last night?”

“Not really. I’m fine, though; used to functioning on no sleep.”

“I should have stayed with you.”

“No. I needed the space.” She squeezed his hand to show it wasn’t a rejection of him.

“I know. You’ll come home with me tonight, though, won’t you? No matter what.”

No matter what. He meant if they were celebrating or commiserating. She was going to need either comfort or joy. They both were. She nodded. “Okay.”

“Good.” Marcus lifted her hand to his cold lips and kissed it. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

The car pulled up outside the courthouse. Abby could see a crowd of reporters jostling each other on the steps, stamping their feet to keep warm. “Oh, God!” she said.

Marcus looked at them then back at Abby. “We got this!” He smiled at her, his voice light, trying to lift her up. “We’ve done everything we can.”

“I know. I have faith in us.”

“Holmes and Watson, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you, Holmes,” he said, leaning in and kissing her.

“I love you, Watson.” Abby smiled, his words having the desired effect and lifting her up. She took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Marcus exited the car then came around to her side and opened the door. The journalists spotted them and rushed towards them en masse. Marcus put his arm around Abby’s shoulder like he had when they were at her house. This time she didn’t bury her face in his coat; she stood tall, walked confidently next to him.

The reporters shouted questions at her.

“Are you confident in your defence, Abby?”

“The prosecution case seems strong. Are you looking for a plea bargain?”

“Did you do it, Abby?”

“Will you plead guilty?”

Marcus pushed through them, almost lifting Abby as he hurried up the steps. At the top he paused, and they both turned to face the crowd.

“We’re confident that the truth will come out today, and the judge will see what we already know, that ADA Griffin is innocent, and there is no case to answer,” he said in a strong voice.

The journalists shouted but Marcus put his hand against Abby’s back and ushered her through the door and into the relative calm of the courthouse.

“First hurdle over,” he said. “The finishing line is in sight.”

Abby laughed at his complete dismissal of all the not-inconsiderable hurdles they had to jump over before they got anywhere close to the finishing line.

They walked shoulder to shoulder down the hallway towards room 402, their arms close together, the back of Marcus’s hand touching the back of hers, his fingers entwining briefly with hers when they reached the door. They didn’t speak. He nodded at her, and she nodded in reply, then he pushed open the door and they entered the room. It was less crowded than a regular courtroom, with no public or spectators allowed. The DA she didn’t know, Stevens, was at the prosecutor’s table. Behind him sat Detectives Murphy and Ryan, Pike and what seemed like half the DA’s office.

Marcus’s team were there, including Sinclair who smiled at Abby. Harper stepped forward to take their winter coats and Abby and Marcus took their seats.

“You look perfect,” whispered Marcus, glancing at the new black suit Abby had worn for the occasion.

“Thanks.” It had felt good to get into a suit again, like slipping on a piece of armour. She’d lived mainly in jeans and sweaters for months and when she’d fastened her white blouse, buttoned her jacket, slid her feet into her black high heels it was a transformative experience. This was her world; this was who she was. Wasn’t it? “It’s weird to be sitting here together,” she said.

“I know. You’re usually tormenting me with your tight blouse from over there. It’s worse sitting right next to you.” Marcus covered his mouth as he spoke, mainly to hide the big grin he had.

“I used to do that on purpose, the buttons.” She looked deadpan at him, not wanting to be seen laughing or smiling by anyone in the courtroom.

“And there was I thinking you had no idea the effect you had on me.”

“Oh, I knew. You were obvious.”

“I can admit now to having the smallest of crushes on you.”

“Which you showed by calling me names.”

“Isn’t that what boys with crushes on girls do?” he said faking a coy look.

“Don’t make me smile,” said Abby behind her hand.

“I can’t help my natural charm.”

Sometimes, he was so like the man she’d first met it was strange to feel so completely in love with him, to find his confidence and his mocking style attractive and funny. She knew him so much better, of course, knew every part of him, his softness and his edges. The change was highlighted now they were here on their shared turf, the difference between then and now. She wondered if anyone else would notice, Pike for instance, or Murphy who’d been in a number of courtrooms with both of them over the years.

Abby felt a tap on her shoulder, turned around to see Sinclair smiling at her.

“You okay?” he said.

“Yes, thank you.” Abby put her hand on his where it lay on her shoulder.

“We’ve got the goods on them; I know we have,” he said, sounding confident.

“Yeah,” replied Abby, who still wasn’t convinced what they had was enough.

The bailiff entered the room. “All rise!” he said, and Abby shared a look with Marcus before they stood and the judge walked to her seat. Here we go, she thought.

\---

Kane retook his seat next to Abby, pleased to see Judge Byrne was presiding. She was strict but fair usually, a stickler for the rules which Kane had suffered from on occasion, but which also meant she was unlikely to swallow the prosecution’s evidence without chewing it first.

“Okay,” said the judge, looking through some paperwork. “We have the State of New York vs. Abigail Griffin.” She looked at the defence table. “It’s strange to see you on that side of the room, Counselor Griffin.”

“Yes, Your Honour,” replied Abby.

“James Stevens for the prosecution, Your Honour,” said the DA, standing. “Is there a prior relationship between yourself and the defendant we should know about?”

Byrne glared over her glasses at Stevens. “You’d be hard pressed to find a judge in New York that doesn’t know the ADA on a professional level, Mr Stevens. If you find one, feel free to have me replaced.”

“That won’t be necessary, Your Honour,” said Stevens, sitting back down.

“How kind of you.” Judge Byrne looked back at Abby and Kane. “And I see we have Mr Kane for the defence. This is going to be a fun day.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Your Honour,” said Kane, standing and bowing his head.

“I’m anxious to get on with this, so we’ll hear evidence and any witnesses you have, Mr Stevens, and I’m sure your team have lovingly prepared lots of motions for me to consider, Mr Kane?”

“We have, Your Honour.”

“Very well. Ms Griffin. You have been charged with the murder of Rafael Santiago to which you have pleaded not guilty. Do you wish to change your plea at this time?”

Abby stood, smoothing down her suit. “No, Your Honour.”

“The prosecution is willing to accept a plea of voluntary manslaughter, Your Honour,” said Stevens.

“Ms Griffin?” said the judge.

“I’m not guilty to any charge, Your Honour.”

“Very well. You understand your rights, having been read them previously and have signed to indicate your understanding. You know that anything you say here can be used in your trial should we get that far?”

“I do, Your Honour.”

“Let’s get on with it then. Mr Stevens. Proceed.”

“It is the prosecution’s case, Your Honour, that on Sunday twenty-second September twenty nineteen, Abigail Griffin did murder Rafael Santiago at his apartment in the West Village. The defendant was known to Ms Griffin in a professional and personal capacity, as her junior associate, and as her lover.”

“Objection, Your Honour. It has not been proved that Mr Santiago was Ms Griffin’s lover,” said Kane.

“Isn’t that what we’re here to find out, Mr Kane?” said the judge. “Overruled.”

Kane sat back down. Abby turned to whisper to him. “It’s fine, Marcus. It’s just their opening statement.”

“I know. I just hate hearing him described in that way.”

“We know the truth.”

“Yes.” He was annoyed with himself because they’d barely started and he was already letting his personal feelings for Abby get in the way of his better judgement. He’d better make that the one and only time it happened.

Stevens continued setting out his case. “On the afternoon of that Sunday, the defendant met with the victim at her home in Greenwich Village. We have video from her home security system to show that this event took place. There was no sound, but the defendant can clearly be seen assaulting the victim by scratching his face.”

“Objection! It is prejudicial to use the word assault. Ms Griffin was defending herself against Mr Santiago.”

“That’s for you to argue at trial. Do you object to the video evidence whether you agree to the prosecution’s interpretation or not?” said the judge.

“No, Your Honour.”

“Then let’s hear the outline of the case and you can object to your heart’s content when we get to the actual evidence.”

Abby put her arm on the table so that it touched Kane’s. It was a first for him to be comforted by his client. He glanced at her, nodded almost imperceptibly in acknowledgement.

“A witness heard the victim say that he was assaulted by the defendant and threaten to tell her superior about it. Later that afternoon, it is our contention that Ms Griffin visited Mr Santiago at his apartment. He invited her in and offered her a drink. While they were still in the kitchen, an argument took place which grew heated, during which Ms Griffin grabbed a knife from the counter and stabbed Mr Santiago in the stomach and chest while he was standing in front of her. There are no defensive wounds on the victim’s body indicating the attack came as a surprise. The victim slumped to the ground and died soon after. There was no attempt to clean up or hide any evidence and no emergency call was made. Ms Griffin fled the scene and returned home. At some point she got rid of the clothes she was wearing on the day in question, which have not been found.

“The prosecution has witness statements from colleagues about the closeness of the relationship between Ms Griffin and Mr Santiago, and from her neighbour regarding the altercation on her doorstep. We have evidence placing Ms Griffin at the crime scene, including the knife with her fingerprints and DNA on the glass of water she drank. We believe we can prove they were in a sexual relationship, that she was in his apartment that day and that she murdered him in a fit of anger because he was threatening to ruin her career.”

Stevens returned to his seat.

“Thank you, Mr Stevens. Mr Kane, what is your defence?”

Kane stood in front of the table. “The defence’s position is that Ms Griffin has been framed for the murder, Your Honour. Mr Santiago did come to see Ms Griffin on that Sunday. He had been harassing her and he was angry that she had asked him to stop and to leave her alone. They were not in a sexual relationship or indeed any relationship of consequence, although Mr Santiago wanted it to be more than what it was. He assaulted her on her doorstep, forcing himself upon her by kissing her and trying to touch her. At no point did Ms Griffin want or encourage such attention, and she was fearful about what else he might try to do. She pushed him away during which he obtained the scratches to his face. Ms Griffin was also injured in the assault upon her.

“Everything that the prosecution alleges happened after this moment is a fabrication and we can prove that the evidence has been falsified and planted to make it look as though Ms Griffin committed the crime when she did not, and could not, because she wasn’t there. There is no proof that she left her apartment or that she went to the apartment of Mr Santiago.”

“That is some position, Mr Kane,” said the judge.

“I’m confident Your Honour will come to the obvious conclusion upon hearing our evidence.”

“We shall see. So neither of you objects to the video testimony. What about the witness statement from the neighbour?”

“The neighbour only hard a small part of a long conversation, a conversation during which Ms Griffin repeatedly told Mr Santiago that she did not want a relationship with him and suggested he go home and think about it.”

“You have no proof of their conversation,” said Stevens.

“Neither do you. The prosecution’s evidence in this regard is circumstantial, Your Honour. They can’t base a case on someone allegedly overhearing an out of context statement from a man who was angry because his unwanted advances were rejected. It was Ms Griffin who had bruised lips and marks on her face from his assault.”

“The witness’s statement goes to motive, Your Honour,” said Stevens.

“I’m inclined to agree,” said the judge.

Kane huffed his annoyance. “Your Honour, there is no motive because there was no relationship of a nature that would result in Ms Griffin being in trouble with her boss. Why would she kill a man who posed no threat other than some offhand remarks because he was angry? The defence can prove that Mr Santiago was the one harassing Ms Griffin and that his advances were rebuffed. We have texts from him over a number of weeks which prove this, and we have a witness who heard him tell Ms Griffin that he would struggle to have sexual relations with her because she was older than him. He wouldn’t say that if they were in the kind of relationship the prosecution alleges.”

“What witness is this?” said Stevens, the alarmed look on his face pleasing Kane.

“One that’s waiting outside if you want to hear her words for yourself.”

“Why am I just hearing about this now?”

“Because I’m disclosing it now.” Kane had no obligation to disclose all the evidence he had the moment he received it, and he’d been holding onto this for a couple of weeks now, ever since they’d finally found someone who’d overheard Abby and Rafael talking in the park.

“We’d better hear her, then,” said the judge. “Bailiff.”

The bailiff brought in a tall brown-haired woman with a nervous smile and kind eyes to sit in the witness box. Kane was pleased with her, because she was one of those people who looked trustworthy for no discernible reason. Her eyes maybe, and the wrinkles at the side of them which made her look as though she laughed a lot. She was mid-forties and worked as a legal secretary.

“State your name for the court, please,” said the bailiff.

“Emily Williamson.”

“She’s all yours, Mr Kane,” said the judge.

“Thank you, Your Honour. Mrs Williamson. Thank you for coming today. Can you tell us what happened on the afternoon of eighth August twenty nineteen?”

“I was sitting on a bench in Collect Pond Park taking a break. I was working late that night so I was grabbing some fresh air and a coffee before I had to go back in.”

“What do you do?”

“I work as a legal secretary.”

“At what time were you in the park?” said Kane.

“I took my break between four and four thirty, so I guess around four fifteen something like that.”

“Something unusual happened while you were taking your break?”

“Yes, I suppose. I gradually became aware of a conversation between two people, a man and a woman. I don’t know how long they’d been there, but the man’s voice had grown louder and that’s why I started to pay attention I think.”

“What were they talking about?”

“The woman was asking him to give her space and to stop harassing her. He didn’t like that, said that she had no right to ditch him and that he should be ditching her and he didn’t know what he’d seen in her. I really started to pay attention now because he sounded threatening, you know. I got worried for the woman. I was also nervous because we’ve had training at work where you’re not supposed to intervene in domestic arguments because usually the abused partner will defend the other and you’re the one that gets hurt, so I was reluctant to get involved.”

“That’s perfectly understandable. You did the right thing,” said Kane, looking sympathetically at her.

“Yeah, well, I got up from the bench and kind of peered around the corner. They were just off the path near the big cherry tree.”

Kane smiled internally at the detail the woman was providing. She was the perfect witness, detailed, accurate, trustworthy. Worth all the hours and money spent canvassing that park for two months.

“Next thing, I heard him say that she was old and dried up and he wouldn’t have been able to get it up anyway.”

“You’re sure those were his words?”

“I am. I’ve never forgotten them. They were so mean and rude; I was outraged on her behalf to be honest. I thought who are you to say that you punk, you know?”

“What did the woman say?”

“Nothing that I heard. I guess she was as stunned as I was.”

“Objection, speculation.”

“Really?” said Kane, turning a sarcastic glare on Stevens. “That’s what you find objectionable about this whole statement?”

“That will do, Mr Kane,” said the judge. “Continue, Mrs Williamson.”

“There’s not much more really. They guy came marching past me, and I went to talk to the woman, to see if she needed any help, but she was heading back to the court. I figured she maybe didn’t need the humiliation of knowing someone else had heard what he’d said, so I left her alone.”

“Do you see the woman in this courtroom today?”

“I do. She’s sitting there.” Mrs Williamson pointed at Abby.

“And is this the man?” Kane passed a photo of Rafael to Mrs Williamson.

“Yeah, that’s him.” Mrs Williamson curled her lip when she looked at Rafael’s photo. Kane wanted to kiss her.

“Thank you, Mrs Williamson. I have no further questions for the witness, Your Honour.”

“Mr Stevens?”

Stevens didn’t bother to get up from his chair, which Kane took as a sign he was resigned to accepting the evidence. “How can you be sure that’s exactly what was said?”

“You’re not a woman, are you?” said Mrs Williamson and everyone in the court laughed.

“I can’t deny that,” said Stevens.

“Well, when you’re a woman you get used to dealing with arrogant or insecure men. I see them a lot in my profession. Lawyers, judges and the like.”

Kane couldn’t resist a glance at Abby, who was trying not to smile.

“I looked at the woman, and I thought she was beautiful, and that kid should have counted himself fortunate to even have a chance with her, and I thought she’d had a lucky escape from him. I won’t ever forget it.”

“No further questions,” said Stevens.

Kane returned to his table while the witness left the room, took a sip of his water and winked at Abby.

“That was great,” she whispered.

“We’re just getting started.”

He turned back to the judge. “Your Honour, the prosecution has no evidence that the relationship between Ms Griffin and Mr Santiago was sexual or anything other than a work-related friendship.”

“We have testimony from Ms Griffin’s colleagues attesting to the closeness of their relationship,” said Stevens.

“You have evidence from her colleagues that the two were having sex? Were they in the same room with them? How do they know? Is the District Attorney’s office one big orgy?”

There were sniggers from the gallery at his comment. Stevens glared at him.

“You are not a stand-up comedian, Mr Kane,” said the judge.

“No, Your Honour. Apologies.”

“We have the diary,” said Stevens, looking smugly at Kane.

“Ah, the diary. I’m glad you brought that up,” said Kane.

“What’s with the diary?” said Judge Byrne.

“It’s a piece of fiction worthy of a Pulitzer Prize, Your Honour. I’m delighted to have the opportunity to pull it apart.”

Stevens’ sigh was loud on that side of the courtroom.

“Let’s see it,” said the judge.

“You’re Honour I’d like to call Abigail Griffin to the stand. No one is able to refute these allegations better than her,” said Kane.

“You may proceed.”

“You ready?” whispered Kane as Abby pushed herself up from the table.

“Can’t wait,” she said with a smile, and she headed to the witness box where she was sworn in by the bailiff.

Kane fastened the button on his suit as he walked over to stand in front of her. It was the strangest feeling to be in this position after so many years being opposite each other. It was weird enough to be questioning the Assistant District Attorney, never mind the woman he loved. He coughed to clear his throat.

“Counsellor Griffin. When did you first become aware of the diary which is in evidence here as exhibit NYC40219?”

“The first I knew of it was when the police showed it to me in my interview.” She spoke clearly and calmly, looked him straight in the eye which made her look truthful and confident but was hard for Kane because whenever she looked at him like that he wanted to smile.

“Did you recognise any of the entries that were shown to you?”

“I was shown three entries. The only one that had any truth was the first, which said we’d been to the theatre and for a meal.”

“This entry, exhibit NYC40219a, says he walked you home and that you kissed on your doorstep. Is that what happened?”

“Yes. That was the second time we went out together and the second and last time we kissed.”

“Until he forced himself on you,” said Kane.

“Objection, Your Honour! Counsel is leading the witness,” said Stevens.

“I don’t need to be led by anyone to recall the assault on me,” said Abby, glaring at Stevens.

“Ms Griffin, please leave any remarks to your Counsel. That’s what he’s being I assume highly paid for. Objection overruled.”

“Thank you, Your Honour,” said Kane. “Now, the second entry stated that you went to his home and that you had sex with him twice. Once on the sofa and a second time in his bed. Is that true?”

“No. I never visited his home and I never had sex with him.”

“So, this entry is a lie?”

“Yes.”

Kane turned to the prosecution table, swept his arm over the crowd of people sitting there. “Our good friends sitting on the prosecution side of this courtroom will tell us that they have physical evidence of you being present in Mr Santiago’s home, and indeed there are many more entries in this journal detailing your, may I say, quite fantastical sexual escapades with this man.”

Stevens started to rise from his chair. “Objec...”

“Yes, yes,” said the judge. “Keep your comments to yourself please, Mr Kane.”

“Fantasy is the right word,” said Abby. “None of what he wrote is true.”

“And you expect us to believe that, when the prosecution will show later that your fingerprints are in the apartment, and your DNA is on a glass.”

“That evidence was planted, and I can prove that on a number of the occasions Mr Santiago said I was in his apartment with him, I was in fact elsewhere.”

“Please tell us more. I’m sure the prosecution is hungry for some actual, provable, incontrovertible evidence as their own case is so lacking.”

He saw a smile creep to the edges of Abby’s lips, but she managed to suppress it.

“If we look at the evening of Monday July first, the diary entry states that we were in his apartment where we worked on a case together and then had sex. At the time I was supposed to be doing that I was actually at the courthouse at a deposition hearing. My attendance is captured on camera and date and time stamped. Again, on the evening of Wednesday tenth July when the diary details some erm, unusual activity, I can prove that I went to the movies by myself. I have a credit card receipt and I was captured on CCTV at various times during my journey there and home again.”

“By unusual activity you mean the two-hour long sex session you participated in that involved, let me see...” He put on his glasses, picked up a copy of the transcript. “Dressing in nothing but a lawyer’s gown and high heels and making Mr Santiago submit to your every whim, is that right?”

Abby coughed to disguise a laugh. “Yes, that’s right.”

“I’m sure there are many people who have harboured such a fantasy about the ADA,” said Kane, looking around the room. “Not myself, of course.” He paused while he waited for the laughter that was mainly coming from his own side to die down, although one or two of the people from the DA’s office were trying not to laugh. “As versatile and efficient as you no doubt are Counsellor Griffin, I don’t see how you can be doing both activities at the same time.”

“Because I wasn’t. I was in the movie theatre alone. There are a number of other entries that I can dispute,” she said, looking at Judge Byrne.

The judge nodded, and Abby went through the remaining evidence Kane’s team had found after a long and painstaking trawl through the streets of New York looking for CCTV.

“How can we trust this diary is a true and accurate reflection of the so-called relationship between Ms Griffin and Mr Santiago when so many of the entries are easily disprovable?” said Kane when she’d finished. “It’s a fiction. A fantasy at best, and at worst, as I hope to prove, part of a conspiracy designed to remove the ADA from her office, to discredit her, and have her disbarred. We can’t allow such a tainted piece of nonsense into evidence, Your Honour.”

Kane watched the prosecution side of the room as he spoke. The detectives, Murphy and Ryan, were whispering to each other. Stevens was sat at his desk with his head back looking at the ceiling. Pike was stony-faced.

“Do you have any questions for the witness, Mr Stevens?” said the judge.

“No, Your Honour,” he said resignedly.

“Whilst I have Counsellor Griffin on the stand, Your Honour, I’d like to discuss the physical evidence the prosecution claims to have,” said Kane.

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” said the judge, looking at her watch. “Please keep it concise.”

“I will, Your Honour.”

Kane went through all the evidence he and Abby had discussed before. The odd fingerprints on the lampshade and the book, the touch DNA on the glass, the fact that it was the same type of glass as was used by the DA’s office, and finally the knife, with its difficult angles and strange placement of the fingers.

“Your Honour, I have a forensics expert, Monty Green, who is willing to testify to the validity of my findings. He is available if you wish to question him, but you can find a copy of his report marked as NYC40919b.”

“The prosecution would like time to examine the report, Your Honour,” said Stevens.

“Your Honour,” said Kane. “The prosecution has no case. We have proved there was no relationship between Counsellor Griffin and Mr Santiago, and therefore no motive for her to kill him. Indeed, she has never even been in his apartment. There is no evidence to show she left her home that day and she can’t be seen on any of the CCTV between her town house and the apartment of Mr Santiago, a walk that would take her through one of the busiest areas of New York City. Yet somehow, if we are to believe Mr Stevens, she managed to get to his apartment undetected presumably by swinging between buildings like Spiderman. If this was a crime of passion as they allege, then why would she have taken steps ahead of time to disguise her route? She didn’t, because she never left her apartment, and she didn’t kill Rafael Santiago. Someone else killed him, and that person planted the frankly ludicrous evidence to try and frame my client. If I were the person responsible for arranging that evidence, I would sack them immediately.”

He said the last part while looking at Pike, who looked away.

“Your Honour, Counsellor Kane is notorious for twisting the evidence to suit his own purposes,” said Stevens, desperation in his voice. “He has manipulated what we found to sell a tale so preposterous it is barely believable. Who has framed Ms Griffin? Why? He hasn’t shown this court any evidence to back up his wild theory, which he has invented purely to cast doubt on this case and let yet another murderer out onto the streets of New York.”

“I’m aware of the methods used by Counsellor Kane, Mr Stevens, but I’m afraid that this time you have given him all the ammunition he needs yourself. The evidence you have presented is far from robust.” The judge sat back, looked from one man to the other.

“Your Honour, I would like to file a Motion to Dismiss the charges against my client, Ms Abigail Griffin, on the grounds the prosecution has failed to provide enough evidence,” said Kane.

Abby was still in the witness box and they looked at each other. He saw hope in her eyes and he prayed that her hopes weren’t going to be dashed. If the judge couldn’t see through the pack of lies the prosecution was telling, then it was going to be a big ask to get a jury to do the same at a full trial.

“I’m inclined to agree with you, Counsellor Kane. The prosecution’s case is weak and in places non-existent. I am granting your Motion to Dismiss the charges against the defendant. You are free to go,” the judge said to Abby.

Kane couldn’t prevent the grin that spread onto his face. Abby had the same look, and they smiled broadly at each other.

“However,” continued the judge. “Someone killed this young man, and if, as you allege, Ms Griffin was framed to cover it up, then this needs to be uncovered and the truth found. The District Attorney’s office has a lot of work to do. Court is dismissed.”

“All rise,” said the Bailiff, and Kane remained standing in front of the witness box, grinning at Abby.

Once the judge had gone, Abby came down from the stand, and flung her arms around him. Kane held her tightly, forced himself not to kiss her or put his hands anywhere other than against her back.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Team effort,” he said, allowing himself one quick rub of her back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Pike leaving, his face like thunder. He pulled away, dropped a soft kiss on Abby’s cheek. “Congratulations.”

Then Sinclair and Harper and the rest of the team were surrounding them, shaking their hands, talking excitedly. Kane took a deep breath, started to put his papers back into his briefcase.

“Celebratory drink at the Whiskey Tavern?” said Sinclair.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Kane, because all he wanted to do was be alone with Abby so they could celebrate together.

“What? Most important win of your career and you don’t want to celebrate? What’s the matter with you?” Sinclair grinned and pulled Kane towards the exit. Kane glanced questioningly at Abby.

“Just the one,” she said, smiling.

“Okay,” replied Kane, “but we have to face the press first.”

Out on the steps of the courthouse again, and this time he was pleased to see the crowd of reporters, which had swelled to a few dozen. He stood next to Abby.

“As expected, the case against ADA Abigail Griffin has been dismissed by Judge Byrne in a triumph of justice over lies and deception. The District Attorney’s office could have saved us all a lot of time and trouble if they’d investigated the case properly instead of jumping onto the clearly fabricated evidence they were presented with. ADA Griffin has always maintained her innocence and we are delighted that she is exonerated and the stain on her character removed.”

“Will you be returning to work, Abby?” shouted one of the reporters.

“We won’t be answering any more questions at this time,” said Kane, and he put his arm around Abby and hurried her down the steps and away from the desperate reporters.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane and Abby celebrate their victory as only they can ;)

Abby’s mind was a whirl as they headed away from the courthouse. Marcus still had his arm around her and it was all she could do not to put hers around him. All she wanted to do was take a moment to stop and hug him and kiss him and just take joy in the fact that she was free, but the team had worked so hard and they wanted to celebrate. It would be churlish not to spend at least a little time with them. She breathed deeply as she walked, taking in the air which tasted so sweet. She was free!

In the Tavern they took over an area at the rear. Abby sat on a long bench squashed next to Marcus.

“Abby and I will have Aberlour whisky,” said Marcus as Sinclair took orders. “Remember that, last time we were in here?” he said to Abby.

“Of course. You tried to tell me how to be a lawyer and pretended you could guess a whisky from its taste.”

“I was trying to impress you.”

“You made an impression alright.”

Sinclair returned with their drinks and Abby smiled as she and Marcus clinked their glasses together.

“To freedom!” Marcus said.

“To brilliant lawyers,” said Abby and she kissed his cheek to whistles from some of the junior associates.

Marcus turned to look at her, his eyes so full of love Abby was bathed in their warmth. If this had never happened to her, they wouldn’t have what they had. She couldn’t think of any circumstance in which she and Marcus would have fallen in love otherwise. She wouldn’t wish what had happened to Rafael or her on anyone, but it had happened, and this wonderful relationship had come out of it.

She felt a hand on her knee beneath the table, looked down to see Marcus caressing her gently. She put her hand on top, entwined her fingers through his and they sat holding hands like that, so no one could see, while the team dissected everything Marcus had said in the court room, and celebrated their success. 

Half an hour or so later she went to the restroom and was surprised as she came out of the door to see Detective Murphy standing there. There was no reason for him to hover outside the restrooms, so he must be waiting for her. Abby’s stomach flipped and she went cold. What the hell did he want?

“Hello, Counsellor,” he said, leaning nonchalantly against a pillar.

“What do you want, Murphy?”

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked her up and down. “I want to help you,” he said at last.

“What?” Abby was so surprised, that was the only word that came to mind.

“I want to help you find the person responsible for framing you.”

“Are you joking?” said Abby, annoyed that he had the temerity to come in here while she was celebrating and try to wind her up.

“I’m very serious,” he said.

“What’s going on here?” Marcus appeared, his face set in a cold glare.

“He says he wants to help me find out who framed me,” said Abby.

Marcus stood close to Abby. “Does he now?”

“Look, I listened to everything you said in the court room and, erm, well there’s no denying that mistakes were made.”

“Mistakes!” said Marcus, his voice loud and incredulous. “If you’d done your job properly Abby wouldn’t have been put through this ridiculous charade the last few months.”

Murphy hung his head contritely. “I know that. I wanted to do more, but the DA’s office bulldozed ahead with the prosecution. It was made quite clear to me that any further investigation was unnecessary.”

“Who made that clear to you?” said Abby, intrigued now.

“Pike, and others. Word was it had come down from the Commissioner.”

“It’s not like you to roll over just because your superiors ask you to, John,” said Abby.

“Things were said. I can’t go into it now.” Murphy shuffled his feet, looked around nervously.

“How do you think you can help?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what evidence you’ve already got, but I’m willing to do whatever I can. It’s not right what’s happened to you, and something stinks in this department, and I don’t like the thought of what it might be.”

Marcus leaned in towards Murphy. “I don’t trust you,” he snarled.

“I wouldn’t trust me either, but I’m telling you the truth. If it’s inside the police department, then you’ll need my help.”

Marcus looked at Abby. He rubbed the side of his nose which meant don’t say anything now.

“We need to think about this, John,” said Abby.

“I understand that. If you want to meet to talk, I’m willing to do that, just nowhere too public, okay?”

Abby nodded. “We’ll be in touch.”

Murphy left and Abby stood staring after him. “That was unexpected!”

“I still don’t trust him. Why does he want to help us? What’s in it for him? I’ve never thought of him as the crusading type.”

“Guilty conscience maybe,” replied Abby. She sighed. “Can we go home? I just want to be with you.”

“I want nothing more. We’ll say our goodbyes.”

It took them ten minutes to get out of the Tavern as no one wanted them to leave so early. In the end, Marcus left a huge amount of money behind the bar to facilitate their celebrations, and they managed to escape with more than a few winks and raised eyebrows at them leaving together.

Outside and they walked side by side back to Marcus’s apartment. They still didn’t touch, not knowing if there was a photographer lurking behind a corner. They didn’t have to hide their relationship anymore, Abby supposed, because it couldn’t be used against them, but immediately after the pre-trial with other lawyers and possibly reporters milling around, was not the time to announce it.

It added to the tension anyway, because the further they walked, the more her desperation to touch him grew. In the lobby of his building she waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive. There were only five floors for it to come but it seemed to take an eternity. Marcus was tapping his fingers against his thigh as he stood next to her.

Finally, it arrived, and the door opened. They waited for the young girl inside to leave, and then they entered and Marcus pressed the button for the fourth floor. He turned to look at Abby, and they moved towards each other, kissed passionately, arms flung around each other, briefcases dangling. Marcus lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his back. She could feel his desire pressing against her. They didn’t speak, just kissed and moaned into each other’s mouths.

The journey to the fourth floor took no time at all and Marcus stepped out into his small lobby, Abby still in his arms. He fumbled one-handed in his pocket for his key and managed to get it into the door. Once inside they discarded their briefcases on the way to his bedroom. He deposited her on the bed, lay on top of her, his hands caressing her face.

“You were amazing today,” breathed Abby.

“So were you.” Marcus kissed her neck, started to unbutton her jacket.

“I’m glad I was on your side, the way you picked poor Stevens apart.”

Marcus had his fingers on the buttons of her blouse, was easing them out of their slots one by one.

“Did it turn you on, seeing me in action?” he murmured as he pulled the blouse apart. He kissed the swell of her breasts and Abby arched her back to press herself harder to him.

“Maybe.”

“Only maybe?” Marcus cupped her breasts, squeezed them, rubbed his thumbs over her hardening nipples through the silk.

“I may have felt something.” She unbuttoned his shirt, pushed it and his jacket off his shoulders. He shrugged out of them, dropped them on the floor.

“What did you feel?” His hand slipped beneath her skirt, stroking her thigh, pushing the material up towards her waist.

“You’re going to find out in a moment,” Abby whispered, and they both groaned when his fingers found her damp panties, caressed her through them. She raised her hips, wanting a more intimate touch. He obliged, his fingers teasing the edge of her panties then slipping beneath, finding her wetness, stroking her clitoris with it.

“Aah,” moaned Abby.

“You were like this for me?” Marcus growled.

“All the time.”

He dipped a finger inside her, then two, his thumb rubbing her clit. He fucked her slowly like that, his eyes never leaving hers. Abby grew hot all over beneath his gaze and his practiced fingers. She rocked against him as the pleasure built.

“I was thinking of you,” he said. “All the time. Only of you.” He thrust deeper, harder, and Abby came with a rush of heat and a cry.

Marcus captured her lips, kissed her passionately. Abby put her arms around his neck, held him tighter, then she rolled so he was beneath her. She sat back, eased off her blouse and jacket, unhooked her bra, peeled it from her breasts. She let him look, let him feast with his eyes, but when he tried to reach out and touch her she knocked him away.

“Not yet.” She undid his belt, pulling it tight against itself as she teased out the prong. Marcus moaned, and she popped the button on his pants with deft fingers, pulled down the zipper. His cock was bulging against his black boxers and she stroked its contours.

“Oh, God,” said Marcus. “Please.”

“You were a wolf today,” she said, putting her hand in his boxers, bringing out his cock. It twitched in her hand. “Staring down your prey.”

“Yeah,” said Marcus, breathing heavily as she ran her hand up the length of his cock.

“So powerful.” She bent her head, stuck out her tongue and licked the tip of his cock, then sucked it into her mouth.

He groaned, put his hand on her head, stroked her hair. His cock pulsed in her mouth as he grew even harder. She sucked him until his breaths were short, and then she sat back, pulled off his trousers and pants, throwing them behind her along with her skirt and panties. She sat naked above him and this time when he reached out to touch her she let him, falling forward as he held a breast in each hand, caressed them, thumbing her nipples. Her necklace dangled between them, and he pressed a kiss to the clover.

“I’d do anything for you,” he moaned.

Abby adjusted her position, leaned in so that her lips were pressed against his ear. “Fuck me,” she whispered.

He groaned, and lifted her hips, guiding her as she settled over his cock, sank all the way down on his length.

“God, that feels amazing,” he said and he thrust up into her.

“I’ve wanted you so badly.” Abby put her hands on his chest as she matched his rhythm with her own thrusts.

“I’ve missed this.”

“Yeah.”

Marcus put his hands on her ass, spread her cheeks apart as he helped her slide up and down his cock. Their breaths grew short and heavy. Abby ground down on him, working out all her frustration, all the fear, all the pain of the last few months. They were both crying out, letting loose. It was freeing, and hot, so, so hot.

Abby’s release was huge, bigger than before; she felt it from head to toe, in every muscle and nerve. Marcus soon followed, his fingers digging into her ass as he pulsed inside her. Abby collapsed on top of him, and he wrapped his arms around her.

“God!” he said.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

Marcus stroked her back, down over the curve of her ass. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too. More than anything.”

He sighed happily, and Abby rolled off him and lay by his side. She looked up at the wooden rafters.

“I’ve never been in your bedroom before; I’ve only seen parts of it on the camera.”

“Oh, that’s true. Sometimes I forget we only had those few days in Ithaca. It feels like we’ve been together forever.” He curled towards her, rested his hand on her stomach. “what do you think?”

“It’s huge! The bed is huge. You could fit three people in here.”

Marcus laughed. “There will never be three people in here. You’re more than enough for me.”

He caressed her stomach, his fingers tracing the small swell created by too much good food and not enough running. His action evoked something else, other thoughts, a memory of a previous conversation; she wondered if he was thinking the same subconsciously. Now wasn’t the time for that discussion, although they were free to think about the future now, she supposed. Well, almost.

“We need to talk about what we’re doing next,” she said. “About Murphy, and Dante, and Cage.”

“I know, but not yet,” he rolled on top of her, planted a kiss on her lips. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

Abby wondered what exactly he was hungry for, and then he rolled over to the other side of the bed and sat up, hunting on the floor before he found his boxers. He stood, pulled them on. He held out his hand to Abby.

“Let’s eat,” he said.

Abby took his hand, let him pull her up. “What are we having?”

“We could get takeout, or we could see what’s in the fridge, rustle something up.”

“Cook together you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never cooked with anyone before.”

“Neither have I. This could be the first test of our relationship. Will we survive being in the kitchen together?” He gave her a challenging look.

“You’re on.” Abby looked around at her discarded clothes. “I should have brought something else to wear. I don’t want to put my suit back on.”

“Then don’t. Cook naked.”

She laughed. “Yeah, you’d like that.”

“I would.” He brought her to him, put his hands on her bare ass.

“Hmm. Might be painful if I burn myself.”

“True. Why don’t you look in my closet, see if there’s anything you can wear?”

“Okay.”

Marcus opened a drawer and grabbed a t-shirt then left Abby to it. She went over to his closet which ran the entire length of the wall and had mirrored doors. He must love standing in front of these, perfecting himself. She slid open the doors. Everything inside was impeccably ordered and neat. His suits and shirts were colour co-ordinated. His ties hung from racks each the same length as the other. There was an entire section just for his shoes, all expensive looking, Italian leather. The pair he’d scuffed when he’d climbed over her wall were there. He mustn’t have been able to bring himself to throw them out. Was he sentimental at heart?

She chose a pale blue shirt and put that on; it was way too big for her and the shirt tails skimmed the top of her thighs, but it was comfortable, and it smelled of him, or his laundry liquid at least. She picked up her panties, but they were still damp, and she didn’t want to put them back on. She opened one of Marcus’s drawers, pulled out a pair of grey cotton boxers and slipped into them instead.

\---

Kane was piling potential ingredients on top of the counter when Abby walked into the kitchen. He stopped mid task when he saw her. She was wearing one of his shirts, his favourite blue one, and her legs were long and bare, her thighs chiselled, her calves delicately muscled. He swallowed hard as a pulse of desire shot right through him.

“Wow!” he said.

“Yeah?” She smiled and then twirled. The shirt flared out a little and he caught a glimpse of grey cotton underwear. Was she wearing a pair of his boxers? Oh, dear God! Another pulse fired straight to his cock, making it swell.

“What are you... are you... are you wearing my pants?”

Abby came around the counter to stand next to him. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Kane put his hand on her ass again, feeling the cotton. “I don’t mind at all.” He squeezed her butt cheek and Abby let out a soft sigh.

“I thought you were hungry?”

“I am now!”

“Food first; dessert later.”

Kane let out a heavy breath, the expelled air thrumming against his lips. “If you insist.”

Abby leant against him playfully. “So, what do we have?”

“Not much. Eggs, cheese, rice, pasta, tomatoes.”

Abby looked in the fridge. “Don’t you have anything green?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“There’s bacon, and some cream. We could make a carbonara. I might be able to scramble a salad together out of these pathetic ingredients.” She held up a capsicum with a shrivelled skin. “I’ll roast this with the tomatoes.”

“Sounds great!”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Abby started slicing the capsicums.

“I’ve made a carbonara before. I’m Italian, in case you didn’t know.”

“I did not know that!” Abby grinned at him.

They stood side by side, her chopping the salad stuff, Kane whipping eggs and folding in cheese. It felt good, cosy and domestic, not something he’d had before.

“Have you been to Italy?” said Abby as she put the vegetables in the oven.

“When I was eight we went for a family wedding but I don’t really remember it. After that we got busy with the farm and then my dad died, so we never got to go again.”

“Would you like to?”

“Oh sure. We could go together if you like. My family is from Naples so we could stay there or travel around.” He looked at Abby; she had a sly smile on her face.

“Is this on the honeymoon your mom wants us to go on?”

Kane felt his face grow warm and he laughed to disguise the feelings her comment had created. “I think she’d marry you herself if she could,” he said.

“She knows a good thing when she sees it,” said Abby smirking at him. Kane’s heart swelled so much it made his chest tight.

“She does.”

“Maybe we should go on a couple of proper dates first before we get married and all that,” she said, turning to fill a pan with water and place it on the stove.

What was the ‘all that’? “You’re desperate for that carriage ride in Central Park, aren’t you?” he said.

“You know it.” She turned back towards him, put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “You know, we have a few minutes before we can start cooking the carbonara.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Kane. He lifted her, sat her on the countertop, stood between her legs. “What do you want to do?”

“Well...” She looked at him slyly, making every part of him pulse. “You said you were hungry.”

God! thought Kane. He’d truly met his match in Abby, in every way. “But you’re wearing my underpants,” he said.

“Then take them off.” She shuffled forward on the counter, raised her hips.

Kane slid his hands beneath her shirt, found the waistband of the boxers, pulled them down. He spread her legs, stroked her lips with his thumbs. She groaned, leant back, closed her eyes. Kane bent his head, put his tongue on her sex and prepared to feast. She came beneath his tongue a second before the buzzer went on the oven.

“That was fantastic,” she said, looking at him with eyes still drowsy with pleasure.

“Yeah,” he sighed. He helped her down, kissed her with lips that were perfumed with her scent.

“Put the water on to boil,” she said with a half-smile, and she picked up the boxers and disappeared towards the bathroom.

Kane switched on the hob, took the roasted vegetables out of the oven. His whole body was warm with happiness. Four months ago who would have thought this would be his life, that he’d have everything he ever wanted but couldn’t admit to. He shook his head with amusement as he salted the water.

When Abby returned they finished making the meal and took their plates to the dining table. Kane opened a bottle of wine and poured them both a glass.

“Here’s to us,” he said.

“To Holmes and Watson,” said Abby, clinking her glass against his.

“Master detectives,” he said, taking a sip of his wine.

“A great partnership.” Abby pronged some spaghetti and ate it. “Mmm. We’re good!”

“We are,” replied Kane. “The best.”

They smiled at each other.

“Remember the first time I cooked for you here?” Abby said.

“How could I forget?”

“I breezed in and took over your home, didn’t I?” She shook her head at the memory.

“You took over more than that,” he said, and she laughed softly.

They ate in a comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the food they’d made together.

“I was thinking earlier about how we wouldn’t be together if all of this hadn’t happened.”

“Maybe not.”

“We’d still be antagonising each other.”

“I don’t know. Perhaps if two people are meant to be together the universe finds a way.”

Abby looked at him as though he had landed from another planet. “Is that Marcus Kane speaking?”

“A version of him,” said Kane, laughing.

“I didn’t figure you for the sentimental type.”

“You’ve changed me.”

“Brought out what was already there, more like.”

“Maybe. I think, if all of this hadn’t happened, I had already sown the seeds of our future.” He looked at her, eyebrows raised.

She frowned. “How?”

“You would have read my article saying all those mean things about you, called me up demanding to see me. I’d have invited you here not wanting to be called out in front of my staff. You’d have arrived, guns blazing, angry as all hell. We’d have argued, got in each other’s faces, and you’d have been so turned on by the tension between us you’d have leapt on me. I’d have given in to your animal lust and taken you to bed, and as you well know, once tried, never forgotten.” He grinned at her and she picked up her napkin and threw it at him, snorting with laughter.

“I’d have been turned on? This sounds like an actual fantasy of yours to me.”

“It may have flashed across my mind. I mean, how could you resist the handsome face that stared out at you?”

“Quite easily, I can assure you.”

“And yet you didn’t, because here we are.”

“Here we are.” She sat back in her chair, contemplated him. “And where are we going?”

“Naples on honeymoon, isn’t it?” He fixed her with a challenging stare.

“Is that a proposal?”

“Do you want it to be?” His heart skipped several beats. He wasn’t certain if this was turning into something real or not.

“I thought we were dating a while first?”

“What do you call this?” He gestured to the wine and the food.

She pulled on her bottom lip, looked at him with twinkling eyes. “I’ll take your almost proposal under advisement, Counsellor.”

“I’m willing to grant you an adjournment, as long as you don’t come back with a Motion to Dismiss.”

“I think I need further proof of intent before I reach my verdict.”

“I can certainly provide that.”

He stood, went over to her side of the table and held out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. He had meant to lead her to the bedroom, but he found himself holding her instead, a deep feeling of something indefinable welling within him. He kissed her hair, whispered softly in her ear. “I intend to love you for the rest of your life, married or not.”

She took a shuddering breath, gripped him tighter. “Let’s get the rest of this over, and then you can ask me again.”

“I like that plan,” he murmured, and then he did lead her to the bedroom, and they stayed there the rest of the night.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby ponders their future, and Kane receives an unbelieveable offer

The next morning Abby woke early. Marcus was still asleep, curled away from her, one arm dangling over the edge of the bed. He was snoring gently. She didn’t want to wake him so she eased out of bed, went to the bathroom and then to the living room. She should be tired, because they’d spent all evening and half the night making each other feel good in myriad different ways, but she was wide awake. The day felt full of possibility and she was disappointed when she looked out of the window to see grey skies and rain. It should be a sunny day. Their plates were still on the dining table, and the kitchen was in disarray from their cooking and impromptu make-out session. They’d gone to bed yesterday after his almost proposal and hadn’t come out again.

Abby loaded plates and cutlery into the dishwasher, filled the sink with soapy water and put the pans in to soak. She grabbed a cloth and started to clean the countertop. Marcus had effectively asked her to marry him yesterday, and even though it was she who’d asked where their relationship was going, she’d somehow held back, deferred answering. Maybe she should have said yes there and then, because the more she thought about it, the more she realised there was no reason not to. Yes, their relationship was technically new and young, and they still had a lot to learn about each other. Hell, they hadn’t even lived together, but it wasn’t as though some terrible habit or secret about him was still to be unveiled. She’d known his flaws before she knew all his wonderful sides. They were perfect for each other in every way. What was there to wait for now?

She wanted to be truly happy, she supposed, and she couldn’t be that until she’d dealt with the problems her stepfather and brother posed. She was free, which Marcus thought Dante had wanted all along, but what did that mean? If she returned to the DA’s office, would he find some other way to get rid of her? And worse than that, he was living with her mother, and had potentially killed her father so he could have Elizabeth. What else was he capable of? This had to end, and the sooner the better. Then she and Marcus could get on with their lives together without worries or fears.

He wanted a family, and even though he’d said there were many futures, she knew that was the one he wanted most, surprising though that had been to hear. She hadn’t had much time to think about it since but was worried they were too old. She’d be forty if they had a baby in the next couple of years, with all the risks that brought, never mind the change in lifestyle and priorities. Was he really ready for that? Was she? His bed WAS big enough for three or even four, and so was the apartment, so was her townhouse, but was either place right for bringing up children? Another thing they’d have to talk about, she supposed, once it was all over.

She scrubbed the pans and put two back on the stove. She’d decided to make him Eggs Benedict for breakfast which was his favourite. One more day of indulgence and then they’d have to do something about the soft round bellies and love handles they’d both acquired since they’d been together.

Marcus came into the room while she was frying the bacon. He looked tired, his eyes bleary, his hair looking like he’d been in a strong wind. He was wearing black boxers and nothing else.

“Wass goin’ on?” he said, yawning.

“Did I wake you?”

He shook his head. “I was trying to force myself out of bed when the smell of bacon convinced me.” He came around to her side of the kitchen counter. “What are you making?”

“Eggs Benedict.”

“Oh, wow. What a treat!”

“I figured we needed to regain our strength after yesterday,” said Abby, smirking at him.

He slipped his arms around her from behind. “We certainly do.”

“We have to stop eating so much, though, after today. I’m getting fat.” She turned in his arms.

“Never,” he said, kissing her nose. “But I suppose it won’t hurt to eat less.”

“And exercise more,” said Abby, putting her arms around his neck.

“Sexercise,” said Marcus with a grin.

Abby laughed. “That’s one way.”

“The only way.” He leaned in and kissed her lips, then trailed kisses down her neck. He slid his hands inside her boxers, cupped her cheeks, squeezing her. “You are so sexy in my clothes,” he said, running his hands over the curve of her ass and up beneath the t-shirt he’d been wearing yesterday that Abby had stolen when she woke.

“Mmm,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment, indulging in the feel of his hands sliding over her bare skin. She sighed.

“Later,” she said, pulling his hands away reluctantly. “Breakfast is nearly ready.”

“Damn!” said Marcus, kissing her one last time. “Is there anything I can do?” he said, looking around the kitchen.

“You could toast the English muffins, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“No problem.”

They finished making the breakfast together, ate it at the dining table.

“Are you going into work today?” said Abby.

“Wasn’t planning to; I thought I’d take the day off, spend it with you if you want.”

“That would be great!”

“Are you going to stay here for a while?” Marcus said, looking at her over the rim of his coffee cup.

His question was unexpected and made Abby pause. “Erm, I haven’t really thought about that.”

“I don’t mean forever. I just... until we’ve sorted the other things out. I guess I’d just feel more comfortable if you were here and I knew you were safe.”

Abby suspected that wasn’t his only motive for wanting her to stay; he’d probably be happy if she never left again. She had to admit the thought was attractive. When they couldn’t be together it had been so hard, and now they could be together all the time if they wanted. She had her house, though, the independence she’d fought so hard for, all her things, her books, her paintings. The life she’d built for herself was in Greenwich Village. If she lived here with Marcus would she be subsumed into his life?

“What are you thinking?” he said quietly.

She focused on him, saw his furrowed brow, his warm brown eyes. “Just that there are a lot of things we need to think about, talk about, at some point.”

“I’m getting carried away, aren’t I? I’m just so happy. Yesterday, and being here with you. I can’t help it.”

“I know. I’m happy too.” She reached across the table to take his hand. “One day soon we’re going to have everything we’ve ever wanted. I promise you. I’m yours. Always. I just need a little more time. There’s too much else going on.”

Marcus squeezed her hand. “You’re right.” He nodded.

“I’ll stay a few days, while we’re working everything out. There’s a lot to do and it would be pointless going back and forth anyway.”

“I think that’s... I’m happy with that.”

“Okay. We’ll have to go to my place today, pick up some clothes. I can’t live in your boxers and t-shirts all week.”

“You can as far as I’m concerned; well, in them and out of them.” He grinned.

“Speaking of,” said Abby.

“Speaking of being naked?” said Marcus looking hopeful.

“I could use a shower...”

“Me too. I could join you. Save water.”

“I’m all for saving the environment.”

“It’s all I care about,” said Marcus, and in an instant he was by Abby’s side, pulling her out of her chair and towards the bathroom.

\---

Kane was sitting on the sofa, his feet on Abby’s legs. They’d got back from her townhouse an hour ago with three suitcases – two filled with clothes and one with books – a holdall full of case notes, the pig mug he’d bought her for Christmas, the painting of Boston she’d taken to the hotel, and a box stuffed with her favourite cooking items and utensils. If she was only staying for a few days she certainly wanted to be prepared. He’d given her the spare bedroom next to his to use as her own space, and she’d wasted no time putting her clothes in the closet and her books on the desk. The skyscape of Boston had replaced the painting of a forest on his wall. Now they were sitting quietly on the sofa with mugs of coffee. Kane was trying to read a book but in reality he was watching Abby, who was staring at her phone.

“You have to switch it on for it to do anything, you know,” he said.

She gave him a sarcastic smile. “I should have looked at it yesterday, but I didn’t want to face my mom. I don’t know what to say, and what if Dante wants to speak to me?”

Kane put his book on the coffee table. “They already know what’s happened. You just have to stick to the basic facts.”

She sighed heavily. “Yes. Okay.”

“I’m here for you.”

She nodded, flashed him a grateful smile, then she switched on the phone. It pinged seemingly endlessly, and she groaned. “Twenty-five missed calls, ten voicemails and about a million texts.”

“I doubt it’s a million,” said Kane, smiling at her exaggeration.

“Close enough.”

“Who are the calls from?”

“Everybody! Raven. I feel bad about not speaking to her. Niylah. Same! Five are from mom, one from Dante, a couple of people from the office. Murphy. Oh, God, your mom!” She blew out a breath. “I should have called people yesterday.”

“You were busy.”

She looked at him archly. “Yes, I can see myself telling everyone I couldn’t call yesterday because I was too busy fucking my attorney!”

“Abby,” said Kane, in a tone meant to soothe.

“I know, I know. Sorry. I’m just annoyed with myself. I don’t usually avoid things, but this...”

“Call your mom first; get that over with.”

“Okay.”

He thought she might go into the other room, but she stayed where she was as she pressed the number.

“Hi, mom,” she said. “I know, sorry. I should have done, yes, I know. We were celebrating and I guess I lost track of time and then it felt like it was too late.”

Kane listened as she told her mom the basics of what had happened yesterday. She sounded fine now the initial fear had been overcome. He picked up his book again, started to read, until he was jolted back to her conversation by mention of his name.

“I’m staying with him for a few days,” she was saying. There was a pause while her mom no doubt had her say about that. “I told you we’re together, mom. It’s what people who are together do. They spend time with each other.”

She glanced at Kane and he gave her a reassuring nod.

“No,” she said, her voice suddenly tight. Kane was instantly on alert.

“I don’t need to talk to him, oh, okay, hi, Dante.” She looked stricken at Kane. He gestured to the phone, telling her to put it on speaker, which she did. Her stepfather’s voice boomed out of the phone.

“It seems everything worked out for the best, Abigail,” he said.

Abby reached for Kane’s hand and he gave it to her; she gripped him tightly. “I’d rather not have gone through it at all.”

“No, no, of course. You can put it behind you now.”

“There’s still the matter of finding out who framed me.”

Wallace cleared his throat. “Perhaps it’s best to let things lie as they are.”

You would say that, thought Kane. That would suit you just fine.

“I don’t think I can do that, Dante. I want to find out who is behind this and bring them to justice.”

Kane was impressed with Abby’s confidence and bravery. How had he ever dared to say she had no balls? She had amazing spirit.

“Look, Abigail. You don’t know who these people are or what they’re capable of. I don’t want you to get hurt. I urge you to drop this and get on with your life.”

His words could easily be mistaken for those of a concerned father but coming from his mouth they sounded threatening. Abby’s grip on Kane’s hand tightened to the point of being painful.

“Don’t push him yet,” whispered Kane to Abby.

“Who’s there?” said Dante sharply.

Damn, his ears were good for a man his age.

“It’s Marcus,” said Abby. “He’s sitting next to me. Hang on, I’ll just put you on speaker.” She mimed doing it as though Wallace could see her. The gesture would have made Kane smile if he wasn’t feeling so tense.

“Good afternoon, Mr Wallace,” said Kane.

“I don’t want you pressuring Abigail into pursuing this, Kane. I’m sure you see some kind of notoriety or financial gain in bringing these people to justice, but by doing that you may put her in danger. Do you understand me?”

“I do, Sir, yes.” I understand you perfectly, thought Kane. Continue with this and Abby will be targeted again, let it drop and everything goes away. He could see how that would be tempting to some people.

“I wouldn’t mind a word with you on an unrelated matter, actually,” said Dante.

“Fire away.” What could this be?

“It’s confidential, something to do with a client of mine,” said Dante.

“Of course, I’ll take you into my office. Won’t be long, sweetheart,” said Kane to Abby, using the term to wind Dante up, not her.

He didn’t want to take this man into his bedroom or anywhere that he and Abby might be together, so he went to the furthest spare room and sat on the bed in there.

“I’m alone now,” he said.

“Good. Now. I know we’ve had our differences, but you’ve done a good job for Abigail and I’m mindful to be generous in my thanks.”

What the hell was this? Was he going to try and bribe Kane? “Go on,” said Kane, keeping his voice neutral.

“Your farm, up there in Ithaca. Your mother lives there alone, am I right?”

“Yes,” said Kane slowly.

“But she recently gifted the farm to you.”

How did he know that? Abby wouldn’t have told him, and no one else knew. Oh, the solicitor, the Land Registry. Damn!

“I would have inherited it anyway.”

“Yes. Yes. I believe it comes with a lot of debt. Hard to get rid of a place like that. Becomes a burden, a money drain. I can ease all that. Give you enough money to do it up properly, sell it and get somewhere comfortable for your mother. You can wash your hands of it, if that’s what you want.”

“That would require a lot of money,” said Kane, whose hand had grown sweaty where it gripped the phone.

“A couple of million dollars at least in my calculations.”

“Yes.”

“It’s yours.”

Kane was shocked on so many levels he could hardly process what he was hearing.

“You’re willing to give me two million dollars to get rid of the farmhouse?”

“I figured it was probably important to you. You want your mother to be safe, I’m sure.”

Oh, there it was, the veiled threat. Carrot and stick, that was Dante’s way.

Kane stayed silent for a moment, as though he was thinking, which he was, but not about what Dante probably thought he was thinking about.

“I can’t say I care much for the farmhouse,” he said, deciding to play up to his reputation. “It’s a heap, like you say. But mother is fond of it; it will be hard to get her to move.”

He heard Dante laugh softly. He must have been expecting Kane to be greedy.

“She’ll probably need care soon,” continued Kane. “And that’s very expensive these days.”

“Of course, yes. Well, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement about the small things like that,” said Dante.

“It is very generous of you, Sir. I wouldn’t feel happy taking your money without helping you in return. If there’s anything I can do.”

“All you have to do is keep Abigail safe.”

“You mean stop pursuing whoever set her up?”

“It amounts to the same thing.”

“Quite. Well. Like I said, that’s very generous of you, Sir.”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

“We are.”

Dante coughed wetly, took a moment to clear his throat. Was he ill? He didn’t sound too good.

“There’s one other, minor thing.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Abigail. She’s not right for you. She’s a home girl at heart. She wants to be a wife, have a family. She’s the kind of woman who ties a man down before he realises it.”

“She’s more than that,” said Kane, unable to not defend her.

“I’m sure she’s... very accommodating. But like I say, not for a man like you. So, I think it would be best, in the near future, if you were to, say, call it a day with her. Let her down gently, of course. We don’t want her hurt any more than she has been.”

The gall of the man! Rage rushed through Kane’s veins, making him hot all over. How dare he characterise Abby like that! And pretending to care for her, asking him to let her down gently. Kane clenched the hand that wasn’t holding the phone into a fist. Fuck! He swallowed hard, tried to contain the venom that wanted to spill from his mouth and down the phone towards this pathetic excuse for a man, a father. Jesus!

“That’s going to be hard. She’s, like you say, very accommodating.”

“What price freedom, Mr Kane?”

“Two million dollars it would seem,” muttered Kane.

“Indeed.” Dante sniffed. “Are we in agreement?”

Kane scratched his head, pretended to pause and think. “I believe we are, Sir, yes.”

“Excellent!” said Dante cheerily. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

“Actually, Sir, Abby was hoping to come and see you and her mother soon, in a few days perhaps. She’s missed you both. We could perhaps get any paperwork dealt with then?”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you in Boston, then,” said Kane.

“Good day,” replied Dante, and the line went dead.

Kane lay back on the bed, stared at the ceiling. His heart was racing. What the fuck? Dante had bribed him. It must have been his last resort. He thought he knew Kane, figured he would be tempted by money because for most of his life he had been. Abby didn’t want to be a wife or mother, not in the way he’d intimated, but that didn’t matter to Dante, because he thought Kane wanted to be a husband and father even less. For the first time since he’d started working with Abby, Kane was grateful he’d built up the reputation he had. It was working for him in a way he’d never expected. What an absolute bastard Dante was, though. He was some piece of work.

He got off the bed, went through to the living room. Abby was pacing the length of the wall.

“What did he want?” she said, stopping and standing with her hands on her hips.

Kane walked towards her, took her hands in his. “We need to call Murphy,” he said. “Now.”


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane and Abby adjust to life together, and there's progress in their investigation of Dante and Romano

The following day Abby was up early again; she didn’t seem able to sleep past five-thirty these days. She showered, and dressed in the bedroom Marcus had given her to use. She wasn’t sure if he’d done that so she could have her own space, or because he wasn’t ready for her to take over part of his immaculately neat closet. A bit of both, perhaps. She dressed in her black suit because she had a couple of court dates with clients later.

In the kitchen she switched on the coffee machine and found the last two English muffins, popped them in the toaster. She’d toast them when Marcus got up. When the coffee was ready she poured some into her pig mug and sipped it while looking out of the window at the street below. It wasn’t as nice a view as she had from her townhouse. Marcus’s apartment was all about convenience and status. It was one of the most sought after addresses in Manhattan, but it had no roof terrace, no outdoor space.

Abby didn’t think she could live here full time, but then didn’t they say home is where the heart is? They were together, and she was free; that was the most important thing. A couple of months from now she might have had a cell for a home, an exercise yard for outdoor space. What would she have given to live here then? She’d lived on her own for so long, it was an adjustment, that’s all.

“Morning!” said Marcus, and he came up behind her as she half-turned, slid his arms around her waist and kissed her cheek. He was dressed in his suit but still shower-fresh, his hair damp, his skin smelling of eucalyptus.

“Morning.”

“I’m still getting used to this,” he said, holding her tighter.

Warmth rippled through Abby’s body. To be loved and appreciated was the most wonderful thing. She closed her eyes, enjoyed the feel of his body behind her, his warm breath on her cheek, his lips nuzzling her. She sighed happily. “Do you want some coffee?”

“I would love some.”

Marcus released her from his grip and Abby went to the kitchen, switched on the toaster and poured him a coffee. They stood facing each other while they sipped the bitter liquid slowly.

“What’s on your agenda today?” Marcus said.

“Client meetings this morning, then I have a couple of court appearances this afternoon.”

“Bellamy again?”

“No, not this time, thank God.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“Yeah. Erm, you’re out of pretty much everything food-wise. I’ll be finishing early, so I thought I’d pick up some groceries if that’s okay?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I do if I want to eat,” she said, smiling at him.

“I know, but I mean I can do it. I don’t expect you to do things like that.”

Abby reached up and kissed him briefly on the lips. “I know you don’t. I have the time, that’s all. It’s no problem.”

“Okay.” Marcus looked at her for what felt like an age, his eyes roaming her face, a slight frown creasing his brow.

“What’s wrong?” said Abby.

He shook his head, sighed. “Nothing. I just realised something.”

“What’s that?” Abby’s heart started to beat faster because he looked so strange, almost wistful. What was he thinking?

“I’m going to come home to you,” he said.

Abby took a sharp breath; warmth rushed through her body, leaving her limbs tingling. “Yes,” she said.

They put their coffees on the countertop simultaneously, and then their arms were around each other and they were kissing and their breaths were loud and the room echoed with their moans. Marcus lifted her, carried her to the bedroom. It was another half an hour before they finally left the apartment, cold toasted muffins in hand.

“I’ll see you later,” said Marcus as they paused at the junction of Franklin and Broadway.

“I’ll be waiting,” said Abby.

They leaned towards each other and kissed. Abby watched as Marcus crossed Broadway towards his office. He was biting into his muffin, his briefcase swinging in his other hand. She smiled, then turned and headed down Broadway towards the legal aid clinic.

\---

Kane sat in the conference room with Sinclair and Miller. They were pouring over the latest reports from the private investigators.

“Emerson’s father was the man your uncle Frank remembers working for Luca Romano,” said Sinclair.

“I thought as much,” said Kane.

“He died five years ago, cancer. Nothing suspicious surrounding his death. He worked as a doorman at one of Romano’s properties but that would have been a cover. His son was a driver like Frank. I can’t find what he did to piss Romano off.”

“There must have been something. He was hung out to dry.”

“If Abby had been disbarred for impropriety her past cases might have come under review,” said Miller.

“Yes!” said Sinclair, getting excited. “I’m sure the Commissioner would have made Emerson’s case a priority. Couple of years in jail and then he’s out with his reputation restored.”

“It’s a good idea,” said Kane, “but if that was the plan I don’t think they told Emerson. He seemed genuinely pissed that he’d been made a scapegoat. He wanted us to link Wallace to everything.”

“Maybe they can retain plausible deniability if he doesn’t know,” said Miller.

“Maybe.”

“Although he’d be more of a risk if he thought they had stitched him up. He could have said something, cut a deal,” said Miller.

“Who with? He can’t go to the police or the Commissioner. He can’t go to the DA. If he grasses on the mob he’s as good as dead. No, the fewer people who knew the plan the better. Emerson wasn’t going to say anything, and a year or two later he’d be out, and know who he owed his freedom to.” The more he thought about this, the more Kane believed it.

“What are they going to do now Abby’s case has been thrown out?” said Sinclair.

“That’s an interesting question,” replied Kane. “My belief was always that Wallace either wanted her in jail or her reputation destroyed. The goal was to remove her from the DA’s office so they could put their own guy in there. I don’t think he cared what happened in that respect as long as she was still alive but no longer a threat.”

“Well, that backfired. She’s more of a threat than ever,” said Miller.

The door opened and Harper entered, set cups of coffee before them. She put a plate of glazed donuts in the centre of the table and then left. Miller and Sinclair pounced on the donuts. Kane eyed them hungrily but didn’t take one.

“What’s the matter with you?” said Sinclair, looking at him incredulously.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Since when has that stopped you?”

“I’m just not eating between meals,” said Kane primly.

Sinclair sat back, a grin on his face. “I see.”

“What?” said Miller. “What am I missing?”

“Nothing,” said Kane and Sinclair at the same time.

Miller scratched his face in contemplation. “Is this to do with Abby?”

“What? No.” Kane took a sip of his coffee, hiding behind his mug as though that would prevent further questioning from Miller.

“Are you on the love diet?” Miller’s tone was gently mocking. He glanced at Sinclair who was struggling to keep a straight face.

“A body this good doesn’t look after itself, you know,” replied Kane.

Miller guffawed at that. “We all know you and the ADA have a thing.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You go all googly eyes whenever she’s in the room.”

“Are we twelve now?” said Kane, trying to deflect Miller.

“Come on, Kane. Some of us have been married for longer than the average life sentence. We have to get our thrills through others, in this case you.”

“I’m pleading the Fifth,” said Kane. “Can we get back to work?”

“Spoilsport,” said Miller, grinning.

“We were talking about how much a threat Abby is to Wallace,” said Kane, keen to return to a less personal discussion. “She may no longer be on trial, but she’s still under investigation by the ABA, and the DA’s office. The bottom line is, she did date Santiago however briefly and innocently, which is a breach of the rules.”

“A rap on the knuckles at best, though, surely,” said Sinclair.

“I don’t think they were expecting their evidence to be demolished the way it was,” said Kane.

“I thought that’s why Wallace hired you?”

“To get her off the murder charge, yes, but it’s the sexual harassment where it all falls down. They really thought she would sleep with Rafael, and instead she ended it before there was any evidence to use. They had to move quickly when that happened and so the diary and all of that was hastily put together, and mistakes were made.”

“So, she is still a threat, then,” said Sinclair. “The investigations aren’t going to lead to her dismissal, so she’ll be free to go back to the DA’s office, even if that’s a few months from now.”

“Yes. That’s why we need to lock this down. I’m seeing Detective Murphy tonight. He’s going to work on Pike from the inside. I really need a connection between Wallace and Rafael. Have you found anything yet?”

Sinclair flicked through his notepad. “There’s something I’m working on. One of his brothers has done time, petty larceny, nothing major. I’m struggling to find out much more. I’m met with a wall of silence by the family, and no one who served time with him or knows him outside of the family is talking.”

“If they’re not talking, that means there’s something to not talk about. Keep on it. Move everyone who’s not working on Wallace to Rafael if you can. I want this ended sooner rather than later.” Kane shuffled his papers together, stuffed them into his briefcase.

“You going home early?” said Miller, making a show of looking at his watch.

Kane glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s midday.”

“I know. I thought perhaps Abby was waiting for you.” Miller stood as well, picked up his briefcase.

“She’s working,” said Kane.

“Oh, so you know where she is and what she’s doing then?” Miller grinned.

Fuck! He’d walked into that one. “Just keep whatever you think you know to yourself, okay.”

“Hey. We’ve been friends fifteen years. Partners for ten. Jokes aside, I’m happy for you.”

Kane was touched by Miller’s words. He put his hand on the man’s arm. “I appreciate that, but there are complications. It’s best no one knows for now. Officially at least.”

Miller nodded. “When it is official, you’ll come to dinner, you and Abby?”

“What about me?” said Sinclair, hands on hips in mock annoyance.

“Luisa can come,” said Miller.

They left the room, jostling each other as though they were kids again. Kane put his donut on Harper’s desk.

“No more donuts,” he said, ignoring her look of pure shock.

He went into his room, sat at his desk, swivelled his chair so he was looking out onto Broadway. What was Abby doing now? Getting ready for her court appearances with her clients probably. He wished he could leave now, but there’d be no point, because she wasn’t there. He sighed, turned back to his desk and opened his laptop. Put your head down, get to work, and the hours between now and being home with her would pass more quickly.

\---

Abby returned to the apartment late in the afternoon. The grocery bags were heavy in her arms and she put them on the table outside Marcus’s apartment while she searched for the key he’d given her that morning. It was such a strange feeling to have a key to someone else’s home. She opened the door, and the alarm started beeping. She entered the code she’d memorised then took her bags inside, dumping them on the kitchen counter. She put her briefcase with them, then stood and looked around the room. It was quiet, empty. She’d never been in here without him and felt like she was intruding somehow.

She started emptying the grocery bags, putting the items away; she’d been here enough times to know where everything went. Murphy was coming around later that evening, so she’d bought ingredients for a light dinner of linguine with fennel and feta she and Marcus could have before he arrived. She left those items out and put the rest in the cupboards.

She felt restless, on edge, her nerves quivering as though there was a thunderstorm coming. She wasn’t sure why, only that it had been building all day. Her last client of the day had been unsavable, and had ended up getting a two-year stretch, which could have been worse she supposed. Still, she didn’t like to lose; maybe that was what was wrong. She went over to Marcus’s stereo system. It was very complicated looking, but she pressed a few buttons and it lit up. She sat on the floor, thumbing through his record collection. It was mainly jazz, which she was growing fond of, but wasn’t in the mood for right now. At the back of the stack was a compilation of sixties music, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones. That was more like it. She slid the record from the sleeve and put it on the turntable. She managed to get the needle on without scratching anything and music drifted from the speakers.

She sat on the sofa, curled her legs beneath her. Sighed. Tutted. Fiddled with a thread that was coming loose from the button on her blouse. She’d never lived with anyone before, not even Jake, not really. They’d both been in dorms, and they’d stayed in each other’s rooms. Abby had returned home after graduating Harvard Law, meaning it to be a temporary measure while she took up a job offer with one of Boston’s top lawyers, but then Jake had got sick. She’d spent most of her time at his parents’ house, and then in the hospital, and then he was gone, and her dad was gone, and she couldn’t bear to be in Boston any longer. She’d moved to New York aged twenty-seven and been on her own ever since.

Eleven years her father and Jake had been dead, both taken too soon. Both deaths had been so hard to deal with, but now there was the possibility her father had had his life taken away from him. He would still have been here if he hadn’t been murdered. What would their lives have been like then? He and her mom would still be married. Abby might never have come to New York. She’d have worked for the Boston lawyer and then at some point her father would have worn her down and she’d have ended up working with him at his firm, defending the guilty like Marcus.

Of course, none of that might have happened. She had wanted her independence, would still have moved to New York probably. If Marcus was right and some things were meant to be then she would still have met him. Would her father have approved of him? It was hard to say. He might have understood Marcus, because Charles was a defence attorney too and his clients were a mixed bunch. Look who his main client was! Had he known what Dante was really like? Her father, whom she’d worshipped and adored and wanted to be like? Was he as corrupt as the man who’d killed him and effectively taken over his life, married his wife, been a father to his daughter?

Tears started to flow, and they turned into sobs. There was no one to hear them so she let them out, loud and anguished. Her father was gone. He would never meet Marcus, never see how happy she was, what she’d achieved, despite everything. Her chest tightened, and her heart felt swollen and heavy. Breaths seemed to catch in her throat, coming out as strangled cries. She’d nearly gone to prison, nearly lost everything. How easily it all had crumbled, everything she’d created, all that she’d worked for. Gone in an instant, leaving her helpless, devastated.

She curled up tighter on the sofa, grabbed a cushion, held it to her, let her tears flow and be absorbed by the soft material. This was what had been building all day; this was what she’d needed. To let the pain out, and the fear, and the sadness, and the relief. To do it alone, because she’d been alone when it all started, and now it had to end the same way.

\---

Kane took the elevator to the fourth floor with a sense of anticipation. Never before in his working life had he wanted a day to end so badly. He couldn’t wait to get in and see Abby. He put his key in the lock, opened the door, and the smell of onions hit him. She was cooking. He was smiling as he approached the kitchen. Abby turned with a pan of water in her hand. She smiled in return, put the pan on the counter then headed towards him, her arms coming out to wrap around him. Kane put his around her, held her tightly to him.

“I missed you,” he said, kissing her lips when she looked up at him. “All day long I was thinking about you.”

“I missed you too. A lot!” she said.

Kane looked closely at her. Her eyes looked pink and the skin around the edges was red. “Are you okay?” he said. “Nothing’s happened?”

“I’m fine. My last client is spending his first night in jail tonight, but that was to be expected to be honest.”

Kane rubbed the side of her face gently with his thumb. “Your eyes look sore.”

“It’s the onions; they made me cry.”

“I’ll have words with those onions,” he said, kissing the red patches on her face.

“Why don’t you go and relax,” said Abby, handing him a glass of wine. “Dinner won’t be long.”

“You don’t need my help?”

“No. I’m fine.” She kissed him, then turned to put the pan on the stove.

Kane knew her well enough by now to know she was happy in the kitchen, following her process, so he took off his jacket and hung it up then went over to the sofa with his glass of wine. The sofa cushions were piled up in one corner; Abby must have sat there earlier. Kane wasn’t keen on them all behind him, so he grabbed the top one to move it to one side. It felt damp to his touch, and when he turned it over he could see there was a patch that was stained darker than the rest. Had Abby spilled something? Then surely she would have stripped the cover off and washed it.

He looked across to her. She was humming to herself, crumbling something into a bowl. He thought about her sore eyes. If she’d been crying because of the onions it wouldn’t have been over here on the sofa. Had she been crying? What about? Was she unhappy here? Oh, God! The urge to ask her was overwhelming, but if she’d wanted him to know she’d have told him, wouldn’t she? Did they have that kind of relationship where they told each other what they were feeling? He’d thought so, but then it was all so new, not just the two of them but everything! He didn’t know what to do for the best.

After a minute of going back and forth in his head his need to know got the better of him, and he got up and walked slowly to the kitchen. It was best to know, wasn’t it? If she was having second thoughts, if she didn’t want to be here, then best to know now.

She looked up as he approached. “Have you drunk your wine already?”

Kane shook his head. “Are you sure you’re okay, because... well, you look like you’ve been crying, and I don’t mean because of the onions.”

She looked at him, scratched the side of her face, pulled on her ear lobe. “I’m fine.”

Kane held the cushion up so she could see it.

“Oh, I thought that would have dried by now.”

“You will tell me, won’t you, if you’re not happy here? I know it’s not forever, but I want you to think of this as your home, as well as your other one.”

She shook her head gently as she looked at him. To his horror a tear formed again in the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath. “You’re a wonderful man, do you know that?” She wiped the tear away. “I was thinking about my dad, and everything that happened, and I needed to let it out, you know? It was nothing to do with you or being here. Well, being here maybe prompted it, not in a bad way, just the change. I need to get used to it all, we both do, but it wasn’t that.”

She leaned across the counter, and Kane moved towards her. She put her hands on either side of his face. “I love you. I love you more each day. I’m very happy with you; I’m very happy here, and I promise you, I will always tell you how I feel. All the good things and the not so good things and the annoying things. Okay?”

She kissed him. “And you will do the same.”

He nodded. “I will, but I’m sure there won’t be any not so good things.”

Abby smiled. “Oh, there will. There will. We’ve got years together, Marcus. You’re going to annoy the hell out of me at times and I will you. That’s love.”

“Maybe you’ve reformed me,” he said, grinning.

“Oh, I hope not. I kinda find that arrogant bastard from the Whiskey Tavern sexy.”

“Yeah?” said Kane, kissing the edges of her lips.

“Mmm,” replied Abby.

The kiss grew more passionate, and Kane was ready to leap the counter and take her on the kitchen floor when the timer buzzed on the stove.

“Dinner’s ready,” said Abby with a sigh.

“Gawd,” said Kane. “Can’t we just eat each other?”

Abby’s shoulders heaved as she laughed. “Later.”

She turned back to the stove leaving Kane to readjust himself so his aching cock didn’t press so painfully against the seam of his pants. He wished they could give up work and eating and everything and just stay in bed making love all day. That would be the perfect life. Maybe with a glass of wine, and some bread and cheese to keep up his strength. That was all a man needed.

\---

At eight o’clock the door buzzed, and it was Murphy. Abby couldn’t help but feel anger when she saw him, even though he was here to help them. She felt betrayed by him, because she’d always thought they had a good working relationship but he’d treated her like any other suspect when he’d arrested her and kept her detained, showing her no courtesy, standing hidden behind the glass while she was stripped of her clothes and her dignity. He would say he was only following orders, but that’s what they all said, wasn’t it, people who didn’t have the guts or the balls to stand up for themselves or others.

Her feelings must have shown on her face because he raised both eyebrows when he stepped through the door.

“I can tell you’re pleased to see me,” he said.

“Let’s not pretend we’re friends, John,” Abby said, closing the door behind him.

He nodded. “I deserve that, and for what it’s worth, I am sorry. I was just doing my job.”

“Not very well,” replied Abby, waving him towards the sofa where Marcus was standing.

“Good evening, detective,” he said, not holding out his hand in greeting as he normally would, which pleased Abby.

“Counselor,” said Murphy.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“I’ll make it,” said Abby, not wishing to be left alone with Murphy for any length of time. She made three cups of decaf coffee and returned to the living room. She sat on the long sofa next to Marcus, with Murphy on the short part of the L.

“Do you have anything for us?” said Marcus, blowing on his coffee and taking a sip.

Murphy set his coffee on the table, took out his notebook. “I do. So last night when you called you told me that Pike had taken money from Luca Romano about two years ago and after that certain cases were dropped and others were prosecuted by less experienced lawyers, including Rafael Santiago. I spent half the night going through the records and I can put Pike behind ninety percent of those cases, and I can also link, sometimes really tenuously, about seventy-five percent of those cases to one of Romano’s legitimate companies. I suspect the rest are connected to him in more complicated ways.”

“So we were right and Pike was fixing cases for Romano,” said Abby, pleased that they finally had tangible proof of her former boss’s involvement. It was sad as well, though, that it had come to this, that Pike had let himself be bought and used in this way.

“A lawyer like Mr Kane here would probably be able to bat this away as evidence, but it’s there, and with more time I could establish the links more firmly.”

“I think you should do that,” said Kane. “If we’re taking down two crime bosses and an entire network we need the proof to be unimpeachable.”

“I also found that Pike hired Santiago, again around the time he got the money from Romano. Nothing odd in that you might think, but there were better candidates in his cohort than him. He was passable at best, and yet he got a position as a junior associate in the DA’s office. Did you know much about his background, Abby?”

Murphy’s question took Abby straight back to the night in The Tombs when he’d first questioned her about Rafael. She broke out in a sweat, gripped her coffee cup tighter in case it slipped out of her damp hands.

“Abby knows very little about Santiago,” said Marcus, glancing from her back to Murphy.

“I had no reason to question it,” Abby said, managing to gain control of herself. “He was competent; not as good as Raven Reyes, but adequate, and he was eager to learn.”

“I bet he was,” said Murphy.

“Hey!” said Marcus sharply.

“Sorry. I just mean, well it’s all very convenient isn’t it? He gets a job he shouldn’t have. He’s paired up with you, wants to learn. You’re a natural teacher and you’re caring. Late nights in the office going over cases. Chatting over coffee or a glass of wine, couple of fingers of whisky. You grow close.”

“I’m quite aware of how I was played,” said Abby, unable to keep an edge of bitterness from creeping into her voice.

“My team is looking into the connection with Santiago. There’s something with a brother who spent time in jail on a petty larceny charge,” said Marcus.

“What’s the brother’s name?”

“Felipe.”

Murphy wrote the name in his book. “I’ll check him out.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“Do you think we have enough to confront Pike?” said Abby to Marcus and Murphy. “We need to turn him if we’re to make the connections to the Commissioner and, erm, higher up.”

Murphy sucked his lips in, let them out again with a loud pop. “Yes, but I don’t know what good it’s going to do. He’s not going to turn against the mob! What are you going to do? Torture him?”

“Of course not. We’ll talk to him, explain everything we know. He’ll do the right thing; I know he will.” Her words sounded hollow even to Abby’s own ears. How WERE they going to get Pike on side?

Murphy shook his head. “You always did see the best in people.”

“We need to set up a meeting as soon as we can,” said Marcus.

“He’ll never meet us,” said Abby.

“We’ll have to find a ruse, trick him into seeing us.”

“Raven might help.”

“Yes, if she can get him on his own somewhere private.”

“I’ll call her, see what we can arrange.”

“Good,” said Marcus smiling at her.

Murphy stood, put his notebook in his pocket. “I’d better go. I’ll look into the Santiago brothers and keep digging on Pike.”

“Thank you for your help,” said Marcus, heading to the door.

“Yes. Thanks, John,” said Abby, feeling marginally less begrudging of Murphy’s presence than she had earlier.

“You’re welcome.” He paused at the door, looking as though he was about to say something else and then thought better of it.

Marcus shut the door behind him. “We’re getting closer,” he said.

“Not quickly enough.”

Marcus stroked her hair softly, smiled lovingly at her. “We’ll get there.”

He kissed her hair, and Abby put her arms around him, rested her head on his broad chest. She could feel his heart beating; strong and steady.

“Love you,” he whispered.

“Love you,” she replied, holding him tighter.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too much happens to condense into a summary. There's scrambled eggs, and dancing!

“Thanks for meeting me, Raven.” Abby smiled at her former assistant and was swept up into a warm hug.

“Of course! I’ve been dying to see you since the court case.”

They sat at a table tucked into the corner of Abby’s favourite café in Greenwich Village, overlooking Washington Square. She’d deliberately steered away from anywhere in lower Manhattan where they were more likely to be seen by people from the DA’s office. She could have met Raven at home, but she was wary now about being alone with anyone from work, no matter how much she trusted them. Somewhere public was better, plus the pastries here were amazing.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to meet up sooner; there’s been a lot going on.”

“I’m sure, yes. I was so happy to hear the case was dropped. Pike wouldn’t let me come and watch. He was afraid I’d cheer for you, I guess.” She grinned at Abby.

“How are things with him and everyone?”

Raven pulled a face. “Worse than ever. He’s blaming everyone except himself for what happened. I swear he’s having a nervous breakdown or something.”

Abby wasn’t surprised to hear that. Pike must be under tremendous pressure from his paymasters above him. He was about to crack, and as much as she didn’t want him hurt in any way, this was the perfect opportunity to get to him, to show him a way out.

“What’s the mood in the office regarding my case?” she said.

Raven looked away for a moment, which told Abby more than words could. “Erm, mixed, I would say.”

“Some people still believe I did it?”

“I’d say they’re reluctant to believe that they’ve got it wrong, and Pike is telling everyone that you and Kane have stitched us up, so there’s some resentment, yeah. Sorry.”

Abby reached across the table and took Raven’s hand. “It’s not your fault. It’s Pike.”

She was about to tell Raven what she’d really invited her out for when the waitress came to take their order. When she’d gone, Abby sat back in her chair, looked out of the window at the people walking through the Square. They seemed so carefree, but probably weren’t really. Everyone had their troubles to differing degrees.

“How’s your mom?” she said to pass the time until their order was ready. She didn’t want to be interrupted again when she told Raven what she needed. Raven updated her on the latest argument and Abby smiled and laughed and, in the end, wished she hadn’t brought the subject up, because now they were both happy and enjoying themselves and she’d have to bring it all back down again. She longed for the day when her worries were small and ordinary, and she could be happy without this feeling of dread hanging over her.

“How’s Kane?” said Raven just as Abby took a bite of her muffin.

She was glad of the time it took to chew and swallow so she could decide how to answer.

“He’s good,” she said noncommittally.

“Last time we spoke about him you were telling me how wonderful he is.”

“He is wonderful.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did anything happen? Are you boning? What’s going on?”

Abby took a sip of her coffee. “We’re exploring our relationship,” she said.

Raven tutted. “What does THAT mean?”

Abby shrugged. She knew Raven wanted her to spill the beans, to indulge in an intimate chat but she’d never been good at revealing personal things to people, even her friends, the few she’d had, and she could still recall the look on Raven’s face when she’d first mentioned she had feelings for Marcus. She felt mean, but she didn’t want to see that look again, not in relation to the man she loved.

“We’re taking things slowly,” she said at last.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you? Is that because of how I reacted last time?”

Trust Raven to be so perceptive. “No, of course not.”

“I was just surprised, that’s all. You sprung it on me, and I didn’t support you as I should have done. He’s come through for you with your case, and I like him more now for that alone.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you.” Abby didn’t say any more and Raven thankfully didn’t push her.

“Okay. Well when you’re ready to tell me, I’m ready to listen.”

“Thanks.” Abby pushed her plate to one side. “I’ve something more important to talk to you about, anyway,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“I’ve a favour to ask. A big one.”

\---

Kane was in his office, his head bent over his laptop, when the door flew open and Sinclair marched in.

“Am I the best partner you could have or am I the best partner you could have?” he said exuberantly.

“This is unexpected,” replied Kane. “Are you proposing to me?”

“Even the horrible thought of a life shackled to you isn’t going to dampen my mood today!” He sank into the chair opposite Kane with a grin and a happy sigh.

Kane couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s delight. “What’s got into you?”

“Success, Marcus! Success! And hard work.” Sinclair slid a file across the desk towards Kane. “We’ve found Rafael’s secret.” He sat back, arms folded in satisfaction, waiting for Kane’s response.

“That’s fantastic!” said Kane. He picked up the file, flicked through it, but there was too much to take in at once. “Can you give me the edited highlights?”

“I’d be delighted. So, Detective Murphy really came through. He found that Rafael’s brother, Felipe, was being investigated for being part of a large counterfeit smuggling operation. He wasn’t exactly high up in the organisation, but he already had a criminal record, and if he was convicted of this he’d be unlikely to see the light of day again.”

“Is this a business linked to Romano or Dante?”

“Well, that’s where yours truly came in, and the short answer is yes. To both.” He looked at Kane smugly.

“To both?” Kane was shocked. He’d never thought they’d be able to link the two men together.

“The operation is running out of New York AND Boston. We’ve found links between employees at both Port Authorities, and companies that belong to Dante and Romano. They’re hidden beneath a lot of layers, but we’ve found them. It’s all in the report.”

Kane’s heart skipped several beats at Sinclair’s words. A solid link at last between the two men! He couldn’t quite believe it. “That’s fantastic work. Truly.”

Sinclair smiled proudly. “Thanks. My theory is that someone, Pike maybe, or someone else, put pressure on Rafael. Told him they could keep his brother out of prison if he did something for them.”

“But if they’re running the operations, why would they implicate themselves by trying to prosecute Felipe?”

“They weren’t going to prosecute him. Felipe was never at risk of prison but neither of them knew that. It’s all a scam. It’s like there’s a whole false system in place that mirrors the real one, so they can have detectives and lawyers and even the DA involved. Those brothers aren’t going to know they’re being played. It’s not as if they were asking Rafael to do anything illegal either.”

“Just seduce Abby.” Kane sighed while he thought through what Sinclair had found.

“Yeah, and that’s not exactly...” Sinclair trailed off. He probably meant to say that’s not exactly an onerous task but thought better of it.

“I know,” said Kane. “Where’s the proof that this is what they had over Santiago?”

“That’s the last piece of the puzzle we need.”

“Abby’s seeing Raven Reyes today to persuade her to set up a meeting with Pike.”

“You need to get him to admit this.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I will.”

Kane looked out at Broadway after Sinclair left, staring at the people below. If they could connect Pike to Rafael, then they had a chain from the murder all the way to Romano and Dante. It was more than he’d dared to hope for. There was just the not-so-small problem of getting the DA to admit it.

\---

“Shall we go out tonight?” said Kane as he and Abby lay in bed after a lazy Sunday of doing nothing but making love.

“I don’t know if I can walk anywhere,” said Abby, and her shoulder shook with laughter beneath his arm at her own joke.

Kane chuckled. “You’ve exhausted me.”

“You have to keep up, old man,” she said, fingers curling in the short hairs on his chest.

“My old man can keep up very nicely, thanks,” he said.

She ran her fingers down his chest in response, over his belly, down through the neat hairs on his groin. Kane took in a long breath of anticipation. She gripped his cock, stroked it. It made the tiniest of twitches, then gave up, the effort too great.

“Really?” she said.

“I think it’s broken. You’ve broken it.”

“Oh, dear. That’s that, then.”

“What do you mean that’s that, then?”

Abby rolled onto her back, stretched out her long body like a cat and yawned. She didn’t answer, but she was grinning like a Cheshire cat as well.

“You only want me for sex,” said Kane.

“Sex and scrambled eggs,” she replied.

Kane turned onto his side, propped himself up so he could look at her. “I still have the ability to make scrambled eggs.”

“Then maybe I’ll keep you around.”

She turned her face towards him, smiled warmly. God, he loved her. He rested his hand on her belly, stroked the soft skin. “It’s not a long walk to the jazz club. We could go and have some fun before we have to deal with tomorrow.”

Tomorrow was their meeting with Pike, or rather their ambush of him, as Raven had confirmed what they already suspected, that there was no way he’d meet Abby and Kane if he knew in advance.

“Make me scrambled eggs while I have a shower and I’ll think about it.” She put her hand on his cheek and kissed his lips tenderly.

He watched as she rolled out of bed, his eyes lingering on her firm butt cheeks as she walked towards the door. He was half-tempted to join her in the shower, lingered in the bed a moment, then jumped up, followed her in.

“You took your time,” she said, pulling him into the cubicle.

\---

It was late when they got to the club, but Indra found them the same seats they’d had before. She was still cool with Abby, who linked her arm through Marcus’s just to wind her up.

“I hear congratulations are in order, Marcus,” Indra said, as though Abby had nothing to do with her own case.

“Yes, thank you. The judge saw sense,” he said.

“Let me buy you a drink. What will you have?”

“That’s kind. I’ll have a bourbon, please.” Marcus settled into the booth.

Abby wasn’t sure she was included in the offer of a drink until Indra turned her cool gaze upon her. “Same for me, please,” she said. Indra nodded in reply.

Abby sat next to Marcus, put her hand on top of his where it rested on the table. They entwined their fingers, not needing to hide their affection anymore. He was wearing his father’s ring again, and she rubbed the side of her finger against the cold metal.

Indra returned with their drinks and to Abby’s surprise sat down opposite them. “Is this business over, then, with your court case?” she said, looking at Abby, who was taken aback, both at the question and being addressed directly.

“Erm, to all intents and purposes. There’s a chance the prosecution could re-file charges if they find enough evidence, but they’d have to fabricate it, so I doubt it will happen.”

“Because all the evidence against you before was fabricated?”

“Yes.”

Indra nodded. “Do you know who framed you?”

Abby glanced at Marcus. There was no way to answer that question.

“What’s on your mind, Indra?” said Marcus.

“Someone was in here a few days ago, looking for you.”

“Looking for me?” said Abby, astonished. She’d only been in Arkadia once. Why would anyone look for her here?

“No, they were looking for Marcus.”

Abby felt Marcus’s grip on her hand tighten.

“What did they want?” he said.

“They just wanted to know if I’d seen you, and when you were last in.”

“what did you say?”

“I said who is Marcus Kane?”

“What did they look like, Indra?” Abby was worried it had been Cage, wanting to see Marcus in person when his letter had had no effect.

“It was a guy, tall and dark haired. I’m guessing Italian-American like Marcus.”

“Why would you guess that?”

Indra sat back, sipped her drink. She looked relaxed, as though this were a conversation she had every day with her customers. “I’ve dealt with his type before. You know, way back when I took over this place some guys tried to run a racket on me, an extortion racket. Sone people think that’s how it should be. Been going on for generations. Not me. Now luckily, I know people who are way scarier than those dudes, and I saw them off.” She sniffed contemptuously.

“You think the guy was the mob?” said Marcus.

“That’s my guess. He looked like one, spoke like one. You know that old saying about a duck.”

“Yes,” said Abby. If something looked, behaved and sounded like what it was, then it probably was that thing. Keep it simple.

Indra pushed herself up from the table. She leaned towards Abby and Marcus, and even though Abby knew there was nothing to be afraid of, she swallowed involuntarily. “I’ve posted two people on the door. They won’t get in tonight. You have my word.”

“Thanks, Indra,” said Marcus.

“Yes, thank you,” said Abby.

Indra left without saying anything else. Abby watched as she walked towards the bar, stood behind it, eyes roaming her domain. She turned to Marcus.

“Who do you think it could be? I thought it might be Cage for a minute.”

Marcus stroked her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it. “He wouldn’t try anything in public. He’s too much of a coward. I’m guessing it’s one of Romano’s men as we’re on his turf.”

“I guess we’ve ruffled some feathers,” said Abby.

“We’re bound to have. We’ve ramped up the pressure, got people asking questions everywhere. My guys are discrete, and I’m sure Murphy was too, but they’re not invisible. Something was obviously going to get noticed.”

“If Romano knows, then Dante will too. He’ll know you called his bluff about taking his bribe, about leaving me.” Her heart started pounding painfully in her chest. It matched the rhythm of the music that was playing and seemed to thrum through her entire body. Her breaths were growing short and she felt panic rise. There was no knowing what her stepfather would do.

Marcus was staring into the distance, seemingly unaware of Abby’s state. She took deep breaths, tried to calm herself.

“There’s no guarantee he knows anything yet. The guy came in a few days ago, that’s not long after he spoke to me. The reports he’s been getting might be old. It might be what triggered his conversation with me.”

“Oh, that’s true,” said Abby, finding some relief in his words.

Marcus shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do tonight. We came here to relax and have a nice time, and that’s what we’re going to do.” He stood, pivoted on his heels and held out his hand to her.

“What are you doing?” said Abby, managing a soft laugh.

“I’m dancing with my girl. Come on.”

He thrust his hand towards her and Abby took it, let him pull her out of her seat. She was pressed against him, and they swayed where they were for a moment, holding each other tightly, finding the rhythm of the music. Then Marcus led her to the small dance floor, and they joined other couples. Marcus put his arms around her waist, his hands resting on the curve of her ass, and Abby linked hers around his neck. They moved together, looking into each other’s eyes. The music was hypnotic, the beat syncopated, sexy.

Abby looked around. The other couples were dancing the same way, their lips joined, their bodies grinding against each other. The lights were dim, and they were in a half shadow. She kissed Marcus, and it grew passionate quickly, not the kind of kiss she would normally do in public, but no one else cared, everyone was the same. She pressed herself harder to him, rubbed against his desire. He groaned, his hands slipping lower until they were gripping her cheeks, his fingers pressing in more than they should. Oh, God, it was hot. She felt desire pool between her legs.

“The room,” she whispered to him.

“Yes,” he breathed, and he led her back past their seats, past the bar, and out around the back. He pushed open the door boldly. There was no one inside, and he brought Abby in, shut the door behind them and then pressed her up against it. His hands were all over her, squeezing her breasts, pulling the bodice of her dress down to expose her nipples. He closed his lips around each one in turn, sucked them. Abby groaned, ground her hips against him.

“Oh, God, I want you, I want you,” she cried, and her hands were on his pants, yanking down the zip. He pushed her skirt up over her thighs, tugged her panties down around her ankles. She kicked them away.

“You’re so hot,” he said. “Fuck!” He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his back. He fumbled between them, gripped his cock, guided it inside her.

“Aah!” said Abby as he filled her.

“Yeah,” breathed Marcus.

He pushed her against the door with the power of his thrusts. It rattled in the frame and Abby wondered if anyone could hear it and the thought made her hotter. She gripped his back as hard as she could with her legs, forcing him faster and deeper. He was kissing her neck, and her hands were in his hair, fingers curling into the strands. She kissed his ear, nibbled the lobe, making him moan.

Someone tried the door, pushing it open slightly, but Marcus pushed back against it.

“It’s occupied,” he growled, and whoever it was went away.

Nearly being caught, the thought of it, the thought of someone coming in and seeing them, of someone even now knowing what was going on in the room was such a turn on Abby came quickly and hard, holding on to Marcus for life as he slammed into her, seeking his own release.

Afterwards he set her on unsteady feet and they stared at each other. “You are incredible,” he said in a shaky voice.

“So are you. God!” said Abby.

What they had, it was something else, something powerful, out of her control almost. Never in her life had she felt the way she did for Marcus or wanted to do the things they did together. He freed something in her, and she knew it was the same for him.

“That was better than the chickens watching us,” he said as he bent to pick up her panties and hand them to her.

Abby snorted with laughter. “I’d have to agree.” She pulled on her panties, adjusted her dress. Marcus was dishevelled again and she ran her hands through his hair, smoothing it down. “I’m always messing you up.”

“You’ve had me messed up since day one,” he replied, his fingers combing through her waves like she’d done to him. “You’re full of surprises.”

“It’s never been like this before,” said Abby.

“No.” He smiled lovingly at her. “It’s wonderful.”

“It is.”

He took her into his arms, kissed her again. “I guess we’d better go back out.”

He grabbed the door handle, and Abby stopped him.

“What if whoever tried to get in is out there, waiting to see who we are?”

“Isn’t that part of the fun?” he whispered into her ear, and then he opened the door and led her out. Abby followed him, her heart pounding in her ears. There was no one in the hallway, and a small part of her was disappointed.

\---

They walked to Abby’s townhouse hand in hand in the early hours of the morning. It was cold and frosty, and their breaths misted and mingled in the air. Abby shivered, and Kane put his arm around her, brought her closer to him and kissed her hair. They cut through Washington Square Park to avoid the traffic fumes, past the fountain, which was quiet now, pausing beneath the arch to kiss. They held each other like they had when they were dancing, even swayed a little to invisible music.

“I adore you,” he whispered, his arms tightening around her.

“Mmm,” said Abby, sighing happily as he kissed beneath her ear. “I adore you too.”

They continued walking, clasped hands swinging between them. There were clouds, and the sky was too lamplit for any stars to be visible anyway, but Kane imagined them above them, like they had been in Ithaca that first night when he’d sat next to her on the bench and told her his truth. How far they’d come since then. They were in love, crazily in love, consumed with each other to the point where he felt he could give everything else up as long as he had this, had her. He’d never been in love before, hadn’t known it would be like this. Maybe it wasn’t for anybody else, maybe this was just them, how they were together. He looked down at her golden-brown head, where a few soft strands were escaping the confines of her scarf, lifting in the breeze, trailing behind her. He would do anything for her. Anything at all.

They approached the house from Fifth Avenue, turned into her tiny courtyard. Abby put her key in the lock, opened the door. Kane followed her into the hallway. Abby stood still, a frown on her face.

“What’s up?” said Kane.

“The alarm isn’t beeping.” She went over to the panel and Kane followed her. “It hasn’t been tripped.”

“Did you set it last time you were here?”

“I can’t remember. It was when we came to get my stuff. Do you remember seeing me set it?”

Kane thought back, but so much had happened since then he had little memory of that day other than wondering how he was going to fit all her stuff in the car. “No.”

“I must have forgotten.”

Kane sighed.

“Don’t sigh at me,” said Abby. “You can’t tell me anything I’m not already telling myself.”

“Okay. Yes, I’m sorry. Mistakes happen.” He wasn’t feeling as magnanimous inside as he displayed to Abby, but she was right, there was no point making her feel bad because it was done, and she wouldn’t let it happen again. He leant towards her, kissed her.

They climbed the stairs, went into the kitchen.

“Nightcap?” Abby said, opening a cupboard.

“Please,” said Kane, loosening his scarf, unbuttoning his coat.

Abby poured them both a whisky, and they headed up another flight of stairs to the living room. She flicked on the light.

“What the hell?” she said, stopping so suddenly Kane bumped into her.

“What’s the mat... oh!” He looked around the room. All the pictures had been turned to face the wall. Nothing else seemed to have been touched.

“Oh, that’s creepy!” said Abby, voicing Kane’s own thoughts.

“Someone has broken in,” said Kane, “and the alarm wasn’t on.”

“We’d still have seen it on the cameras,” replied Abby.

“I haven’t checked my phone tonight.” Kane took his phone out of his pocket and Abby did the same. He saw there was a text from the security company with a link to a video. “I’ve got something,” he said.

“Me too,” said Abby. She leaned towards Kane and looked as he played the footage.

Someone could clearly be seen walking towards the front door. A moment later the camera picked them up inside the house, entering a code into the alarm. The camera then followed them up the stairs, into the living room where they turned the pictures around. They went into each bedroom, doing the same, then returned the way they’d come, down into the hallway, towards the snug, where the file ended.

“You didn’t make a mistake. He knew the alarm code but not how to shut off the cameras,” said Kane, his heart thumping.

“Where’s the rest of it?” said Abby.

“What do you mean?”

“Why isn’t there footage from my office, or of them leaving?”

All the blood seemed to drain from Kane’s body, and he went cold. “They’re still here,” he whispered.

“No!” said Abby.

“They must be.”

“Oh, fuck!” She put her hand over her mouth, picked at her bottom lip. “What are we going to do?”

“I’ll go and check,” said Kane, with a bravado he didn’t feel. “Stay here.”

“No way! I’m not staying here. I’m not letting you go by yourself.”

“You’re not coming with me.”

“Marcus, everyone knows the one who gets left behind is the one who dies! I’m coming with you!”

“Okay,” he said, reluctantly giving in. She was probably right, and two of them were better than one if it came to a confrontation. “Do you have a baseball bat or something like that?”

“Do I look like someone who has a baseball bat? I have a rolling pin.”

“That will have to do.”

They snuck down the stairs towards the kitchen, where Abby opened a drawer quietly and handed Kane a heavy marble rolling pin. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use this, because one blow would probably kill.

“Stay behind me, though. Please,” he whispered as they crept through the hallway, past the dining table and to the snug where they paused at the top of the stairs. Kane listened, trying to hear noise below, but all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

“They have the better position below,” said Abby.

“I know,” replied Kane, whose only knowledge of combat had come from watching action movies. He suspected Abby was the same, unless she had a past as a ninja which she’d forgotten to tell him about.

“The stairs are open so they could be hiding under there and then they’ll reach out and pull your leg. You’ll fall down the stairs.”

Kane stared incredulously at her. “You’re not helping!”

She gave him a look he hoped he wouldn’t see too often in their relationship. “I’m just trying to be prepared.”

“I know, I know,” he said, softening, because they were both nervous and had no idea what was waiting for them below. “Let’s just go slowly.”

“Okay.”

Kane put his foot on the top stair, praying it wouldn’t creak, then he descended slowly, looking below the stairs and around what was revealed of the room as much as he could. It was dark, and everything was in shadow, but he told himself he would see any movement, and that was enough to keep him going. Abby was close behind him, her hand pressed to his back. Kane’s heart was beating so fast he figured he would have a heart attack if this didn’t resolve itself quickly one way or another. Of course, you can’t have a heart attack if you’re dead, so best to try and keep alive and hope Abby knew CPR.

He reached the bottom step, stood up straight and looked around. The room was oblong shaped, and he couldn’t see anyone at first glance. The best hiding place was beneath the desk. He pointed at it so Abby would understand where his concerns lay. She nodded. Kane made a shooing gesture with his hand and pointed to one side. She nodded again, and they split up, approaching the desk from opposite sides. Kane took a deep breath as quietly as he could, then leapt around the back of the desk, rolling pin raised. There was no one there.

“Nothing,” he said to Abby who was a fraction of a second behind him.

“I’ll switch on the light.”

A couple of seconds later the room was bathed in yellow light and it was clear there was no one inside.

“Where’s he gone?” said Kane.

Abby walked over to the back door, pushed it open. “He’s taken a leaf out of your book,” she said. She went out into the yard and Kane hurried after her. The light spilling from the room was enough to see there was no one hiding there either.

“He’s gone over the wall,” said Kane, staring down at footprints in the soil below.

“Goddamn it!” Abby closed the door, locked it and pulled a curtain across. “How the hell did he know the alarm code?”

Kane shook his head. “Who else knows about it?”

“No one. Just you and me and the alarm company.”

“Harper, presumably, as she set it all up.” Kane’s heart sank as thoughts he’d never thought he’d have bubbled up into his mind.

“No. I changed it after that.”

“Oh. Good.” Thank God for that.

“I’d better call the alarm company,” said Abby, trudging back up the stairs.

“Yes, get everything changed, and tell them to send someone to patrol. I want this place monitored twenty-four-seven,” said Kane. He thought she’d argue, but she just nodded.

“Okay.”

They lay in bed afterwards, both on their backs, both staring at the ceiling. Kane had called Murphy, and he was coming over the next day to dust for fingerprints, not that they’d find any. Kane didn’t want the police or anyone else involved. If it was Cage, then it was a private matter, at least for now. If it was someone else, the mob guy who’d been to the club for instance, he wanted that kept as quiet as possible.

“They mustn’t have thought we’d be here,” said Abby.

“No. We surprised him.”

“What does it mean, turning the pictures?”

“It’s a message. They’re telling us how easily they can get to us.”

“They must have someone in the alarm company, if they used an admin code like they say.”

“I guess they have people everywhere.”

She turned to look at him, worry and fear etched deep into her face. “You don’t think they saw us, do you? On the cameras? When we were...”

“No,” said Kane, and he meant it. “They didn’t know to switch them off, so they probably didn’t know you had them.”

“Whoever it is at the alarm company would know. Maybe they wanted us to see them.”

“That’s possible, but I just don’t feel it, Abby. This is a recent thing, caused by your acquittal and our ongoing investigations.”

She rolled towards him, put her arm over his chest. “I just want this all to go away.”

Kane put his arm around her, held her close to him. “It will. We’re close, my love. We’ve got Pike tomorrow, and then we’ll go to Boston, get everything out into the open.”

She nodded, but Kane felt tears drip onto his bare chest. He put both arms around her, buried his face in her hair. “Trust me,” he murmured.

“I do,” she said.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to get some answers from Pike

It was late on a wet New York afternoon when Abby and Marcus arrived at the Marriott Marquis Hotel in Times Square. The sky was dark and heavy, and the lights of the Square and Broadway were already bright. It was like being in a kaleidoscope, and Abby thought if she twirled around fast enough all the billboards and signs and lights would merge into a multi-coloured swirl of images. She felt lightheaded just looking up at the buildings and thinking about it. The rain glittered as it fell, turning grey as it hit the sidewalk and splashed onto her boots.

“Let’s get inside quickly,” said Marcus, folding their umbrella and putting his arm around Abby to usher her off the street and into the covered entrance.

They stepped into the lobby and Abby looked up at the famous atrium that reached dozens of floors and seemed to go on forever. She looked away again quickly, feeling sick. Marcus didn’t look up; he’d been in a determined, focused mood all day and marched over to reception, asking for directions to the ballroom where the charity auction they were there to attend was being held.

“It’s on the third floor,” he said, heading towards the elevators.

“Oh, thank God. I didn’t feel like a ride to the top. Those express elevators are awful.”

“Are you okay?” he said, looking at her with concern. “You seem pale.”

“I feel sick. I’m worried about confronting Pike and who else might be at this stupid thing.”

“I know it’s a risk that others will see us, but we’re within our rights to be here, and it’s the best opportunity for cornering Pike. He won’t be able to make a scene in public and then we’ll take him for a more private conversation.”

“I know. I’ll just be glad when this is over with.”

The elevator arrived and Marcus put his hand in the small of her back to guide her inside. No one they knew was in the elevator, so he moved his arm around her shoulder, pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

“We’ve got this,” he said.

Abby nodded, but the sick feeling didn’t go away. They handed their coats to the usher and went inside. The gala was formalwear, and everyone was dressed in their finest. Marcus was wearing a three piece suit the colour of mulled wine, with a dark grey waistcoat and a purple tie. He stood out in a sea of men in black and white. He was flamboyant sometimes in his dress, like he was in court. She thought it gave him confidence to be like that, and she loved him for it. She’d had little option but to put on a classic little black dress when she’d seen what he was wearing, because everything else she owned would clash with him and give anyone looking at them a headache.

She looked around the room while Marcus got them a drink, fingering her necklace, trying to calm herself for what was to come. A couple of people she knew saw her at the same time she saw them, looked and pointed. She swallowed down the sick feeling that was rising again.

“Here you go,” said Marcus, handing her a glass of red wine. He took a sip of his own drink, looked around the room like Abby had been doing. “Anyone we know?”

“Couple of idiots from Judge Gilbert’s office; no one important.”

“I don’t particularly want to socialise. The fewer people who see us the better.”

“I’m okay with that,” said Abby, taking a large gulp of wine.

“I doubt there’ll be many people we know here; it’s not one of the more popular causes.”

“Have you been to a lot of these galas?”

“Quite a few over the years I suppose, with the guys from the office. I was a prize once.”

He looked at her nonchalantly and Abby paused with her drink midway to her mouth.

“What do you mean you were a prize?”

“I was auctioned off, well a night out with me was.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Hey, I’m the most eligible lawyer in New York you know, or at least I was.” He leaned towards her, his brown eyes twinkling.

“Who won you?”

“Oh, I can’t remember her name now. It was a few years ago, and she was older than me. Paid a pretty penny, though, for the privilege.”

“I hope she got her money’s worth.”

Marcus laughed. “I think it was me who learned a thing or two. She was older, married, very experienced.”

He sighed as though the memory made him happy. Abby felt a pang of jealousy even though she knew he had this kind of thing in his past.

“You liked your married women,” she said. “Her. Your professor.”

Marcus moved closer to her, put his arm around her waist. “I was young and stupid. I’m not like that now.”

“I know,” said Abby, cursing herself for letting her feelings show. She was on edge today, still shook up after the break-in last night, worried about Pike. She decided to move the conversation on. “I had to suffer these galas all the time when I was in Boston. That’s why I try not to go to them now unless I have to.”

“They’re full of hypocrites and sycophants,” sniffed Marcus. “You know I struggle to play that game. I would never have come on my own, but with Miller and Sinclair we had fun.”

“They’re good guys.”

“Yes. Miller invited us for dinner. I forgot to tell you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It was before the trial so I pretended I didn’t know what he was talking about regarding you and me.” Marcus grinned at her.

“Everyone knew.”

“Yeah. I just can’t hide my worship of you.” He closed the gap between them, kissed her cheek softly, letting his lips linger.

“Don’t be naughty,” whispered Abby in return.

“It’s your fault; you’re so hot in that dress.”

Abby was about to reply when she spotted Pike entering the room. He was alone and looked around briefly before heading towards the seating chart at the opposite end of the room.

“He’s here,” she said, and turned Marcus so he was facing the right direction. Her heart started thumping as she watched Pike find his seat at one of the tables.

“He’ll come to the bar for a drink soon enough,” said Marcus, and he led Abby towards the back of the room, where they could see the bar but were hidden by a crowd of people.

They watched and waited in silence. Abby went over in her mind what they had planned to say to him. She stared at the back of his head, willing him to come towards them so they could get this part over one way or another. It was a tense five minutes at least before he pushed back his chair and headed towards them. They moved silently behind him while he waited at the bar, so when he turned, he was looking straight at them.

“Hello, Charles,” said Abby with a rictus smile.

Pike’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and his mouth widened into a round O. “Ah, erm, hello.” Abby saw him grip his drink tighter, as though he’d been about to drop it. Were his hands sweaty already?

“Fancy seeing you here,” said Marcus, and he moved to the other side of Pike so the man was flanked by them. He could no longer focus in once place and swivelled his head from side to side as he looked from Abby to Marcus and back again.

“You look well,” he said to Abby.

“That’s what exoneration does to a person,” she replied.

“Yes. Well. I, erm, I was going to speak to you.”

“Were you? When were you going to do that? Only, it’s been over a week and I’ve heard nothing from you or the DA’s office.”

“You’re still suspended while the ABA investigates.” He tried to stand taller, but Marcus moved closer to him and he sensed that and shuffled away, closer to Abby, then clearly thought better of that. He looked at her helplessly, and Abby felt sorry for him momentarily, then she thought about what he’d put her through, and the feeling passed.

“I’m aware of that, but I guess I thought that my boss, my colleague and, well we were never friends, but just for the sake of argument, my friend, would spare a moment to see how I am, even if he couldn’t bring himself to congratulate me.”

“Of course, yes. I should have done that. We’ve been busy, that’s all. I don’t know where the time goes.”

“I suppose it is a lot of work attending galas on a Monday afternoon,” said Marcus.

“You must come into the office, have a chat. I’ll get my secretary to set something up.” Pike started to move away, but Abby and Marcus closed ranks in front of him to prevent him leaving.

“Actually, I’d rather have that chat now,” said Abby.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Here?”

“Why not? You’re here. I’m here.”

“The auction,” said Pike, sighing even as he said it, realisation turning to resignation.

“I’m sure the auction won’t miss the few dollars you can afford to bid,” said Marcus.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think it’s wise for someone with your history to throw away money on something you don’t really need. It’s gambling, really, isn’t it?” Marcus smiled at Pike.

“I...”

“I heard he likes to gamble,” said Abby to Marcus.

“I heard the same thing. I also heard he’s had his debts paid off.”

“Who would do such a generous thing?” Abby was enjoying this despite her earlier feelings. She and Marcus made a good team, sparking off each other like they used to in the courtroom.

“I have an idea or two.”

“Oh, do tell,” said Abby.

Marcus opened his mouth to speak and Pike coughed.

“Listen, I don’t know what you think you know, but you’re wrong.”

Marcus sucked on his bottom lip, looked at Abby with a frown on his face. “Have you ever known me to be wrong, Counselor?”

“Sadly, no, Counselor.”

“I’m not wrong,” said Marcus, staring fixedly at Pike. “We’re not wrong. We know everything, and it’s time we had that talk you promised Abby. We can do it here in public, or you can come with us somewhere more private.”

Pike stared at Marcus, who was a good four or five inches taller than him and used the extra height to his benefit, leaning over the DA, dominating him. Pike had been the dominant one in the DA’s office, using his power to get what he wanted, and Abby expected him to stand up to Marcus, to not give in without a fight, but his shoulders slumped making him seem even shorter. He looked defeated, and Abby knew what she’d suspected when she talked to Raven; he was about to crack.

\---

Kane led the way out of the ballroom, down one set of stairs to a room that Harper had reserved for them to use. He opened the door, held it for Pike and Abby, then entered and closed it behind him. The room was a small conference room, with a grey table and dark blue chairs. He gestured to one of the chairs and Pike sat.

They all still had hold of their drinks, which seemed ridiculous. Kane had done a lot of things in his life but dealing with mob bosses and conspiracies, and potentially blackmailing crooked DAs was out of his usual wheelhouse and he wasn’t as prepared for every detail, hence the drink. He put the wine glass on the table, pulled out a chair opposite Pike and sat in it. He unbuttoned his jacket, leant back and regarded Pike silently. Abby stood behind him, one hand on the back of his chair. Neither of them spoke.

Pike shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. “What do you want?” he said after enduring a long few seconds of silence.

“I want you to tell us the truth about what happened to Abby and who’s behind all this.”

“Why are you pursuing this? She’s free. Once the ABA have finished their investigation she’ll be back at work. Everything will go back to normal.”

“A man’s dead, Charles,” said Abby. “A young man who didn’t know he was a pawn in a bigger game, who didn’t deserve to lose his life because of all this.”

“That was nothing to do with me.”

“It was everything to do with you. You were his boss, like you were mine. You should have protected him, but instead you threw him to the lions in order to destroy me.”

“We know you’re involved,” said Kane. “We know about your gambling addiction and your debts. We know Luca Romano paid them off for you. What did you do in return? Did you coerce Santiago into seducing Abby? Did you frame her when that didn’t work?”

“You credit me with a lot of influence,” said Pike. He took a long draught of his drink, emptying the glass before putting it on the table.

“I’d like to credit you with knowing when the game is up. This is your chance to get on the right side, Pike, to make good some of the shit you’ve caused.”

Pike shook his head and laughed. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to help you in any way. Whatever you think you know I can guarantee you know nothing. Luca Romano is the least of it.” He glanced at Abby as he said this.

Kane realised Pike had no clue as to the extent of what they knew. Time to open his eyes wide. “No, but Dante Wallace is the head of it.” He watched as Pike seemed to physically curl in on himself at Kane’s words.

“Wallace?” he said in a quiet voice.

“Yes, I’m sure you know him. Dante Wallace, Boston businessman, Abby’s stepfather, head of the mob.” Kane’s bomb landed exactly where he wanted it to, exploding all Pike’s certainties.

“You know about Wallace?” Pike addressed this question to Abby.

“We do,” she said, in a voice that was strong and true and made Kane feel so proud of her. “We said we know everything, and we do. We have proof of most of it. You’re our final connection.”

“We’re bringing Wallace and his whole operation down,” said Kane, pressing home their advantage. “He’s as good as gone already. It’s up to you which side of history you want to be on.”

“He’ll have me killed,” said Pike. “He’ll have you killed, both of you, everyone you love, everyone you work with.”

“I don’t think so,” said Abby. “He could have had me killed back when this all started, but he didn’t. We’ve already got the people at the port authorities, some of the judges, lawyers and police officers. Detective Murphy has been collecting evidence on them all. We just need the link between Rafael, me and Dante and we have it all. You can provide that. You can help us take him down.”

“There’s nothing to stop him killing you anyway, if that’s what he wants to do,” said Kane. “Once he finds out what we’re doing he’s going to clean house. You’re doomed either way, but with us you have a chance.”

Pike dropped his head towards his chest, took slow, deep breaths that sounded like sighs. “I’ve had enough anyway. I can’t go on like this. Death would be welcome.”

“It won’t come to that, Charles,” said Abby in a soft voice.

“It doesn’t matter either way.” Pike sighed again, then sat up straighter. “Two years ago I was in a lot of shit with the debt as you know. The Commissioner took me to one side one day, said he knew I had troubles, and that he was having to consider setting up an investigation into me and some, erm, stupid stuff I’d done to try and cover up what was happening. I heard nothing for a couple of weeks and I was so worried. I was just waiting for the hammer to fall, and then he called me into his office, said he had a solution.

“The solution was Luca Romano, who would pay off my debts and bankroll a decent lifestyle, pay for my kids’ college educations et cetera. All I had to do was sabotage certain cases and they’d tell me what they were. I wasn’t happy about doing it, but it didn’t seem like the worst thing in the world. I wasn’t letting murderers go free.”

He looked at Kane when he said this, his lip curled in a snarl of contempt. Kane felt affronted, even though he wasn’t exactly blameless. Hadn’t he got one Luca Romano off a murder charge?

“What happened after that?” he said, pushing his feelings to one side.

“Then he wanted me to employ this kid Santiago, who wasn’t the best of the interns, but again I didn’t think it was too bad. We employ loads of incompetent people in this business, children of judges or lawyers whose only qualifications are being born into that world. Santiago improved under Abby’s tutelage and I thought it was all turning out okay. I didn’t know about the sexual harassment idea at first; that was worked out directly with Santiago.

“Then about the week before the murder I was at a dinner at the Sheraton Hotel, some fundraiser. Wallace was there, and the Commissioner. They invited me to sit at their table, and that’s when they told me what they planned to do with Santiago and Abby.”

“Dante was there when this was said?” said Abby, shock in her voice.

“Yes. It was the Commissioner who said most of it, told me what was happening, said that Santiago was going to go to your home and harass you and that later that night he was going to have an accident, and that you would be blamed.”

Abby let out a soft cry behind Kane, and he turned to look at her. Tears were forming in her eyes. “It’s okay,” Kane said softly.

“Hearing it out loud,” she whispered.

“I know.” Up until now most of what they’d known about the murder had been circumstantial. To hear the truth from Pike was shocking and upsetting. Kane turned back to Pike.

“You went along with this? Didn’t object at all?”

“I did object. I told the Commissioner I couldn’t be involved in murder, not of Santiago and not of Abby. Wallace said Abby wouldn’t be hurt; he said it was important everyone understood that. I said Santiago was innocent, and that I couldn’t do it. That was the end of it or so I thought, and then two days later I got a hysterical call from my ex-wife saying my daughter had been hurt in a hit and run. She was bruised and shaken but otherwise okay. I knew it wasn’t an accident; I knew it was a warning. That’s when I went through with it.”

He slumped in his chair when he’d said this, looking tired, and older than his fifty-odd years.

“Can you connect Wallace and the Commissioner to all of this? Will you do it?” said Kane, his heartrate increasing. This was it now. Make or break.

“I can do better than that. I’ve collected evidence along the way. Messages, emails, voicemails, and I recorded some of the conversations I had, though not all.”

Kane looked at Abby, seeing the shock he felt reflected in her face.

“You’ve kept evidence?” she said.

“I’m a lawyer, same as you. I didn’t know if I’d ever dare to use it, or get an opportunity, but I’ve got it, yes.”

“Thank you,” said Abby.

“It won’t do you any good,” said Pike. “He will kill you this time.”

“He’s not going to get the chance,” said Kane, anxious not to dwell on what was a very real outcome he and Abby had avoided discussing.

The door opened, and Pike jumped at the sight of Detective Murphy entering.

“What is this?” he said. “I’m helping you!”

“I know you are,” replied Kane, “but we don’t trust you, funnily enough, and so Detective Murphy here is going to take you somewhere private, protected, once we’ve got your evidence of course. You’ll be fine.”

“Did you hear everything, John?” said Abby.

“Loud and clear,” replied Murphy. “It’s all on tape.”

“Good.” Abby leant across the table, switched off the spider phone, which had been connected to Murphy since the moment they’d stepped into the hotel. 

“I’m sorry, Abby, I had no choice,” said Pike as Murphy put a hat on him and fastened a coat and scarf around him so all that could be seen were his dark, tired eyes.

“You always have a choice,” she said, then she turned her back on him and looked at Kane.

Kane waited until the door was closed then he took Abby into his arms, held her tight. “That went better than I thought,” he said.

“Yeah,” she said, and then she sobbed, and Kane held her while she cried out the tears of sadness and frustration that must be overwhelming her.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby and Kane drive to Boston to confront Cage.

Two days later Abby was in the kitchen preparing supper for her and Marcus when his phone rang. She looked up as he answered, watched his face as a range of expressions swept across it. When he ended the call he looked across at her, and something in his face made Abby’s limbs go weak. It happened so suddenly she had to put down the knife she was holding and grab hold of the countertop.

“What is it?” she said in a shaky voice.

Marcus came towards her, round the counter so he was standing right in front of her, his eyes dark and sad. “That was Monty Green from the forensics lab. He’s had the DNA results from the trace he found on the envelope I received.”

“Does it belong to Cage?” said Abby, her heart thumping.

Marcus nodded. “I’m afraid it does.”

Abby took a deep breath, let it out shakily. Marcus put his arms around her, enveloped her in a warm hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

People say it’s the not knowing that’s worse, that shred of doubt that remains when you don’t know the truth for sure, and your imagination runs riot with the possibilities. It can drive a person mad. On the other hand, not knowing means you can cling to any outcome that gives you comfort. Finding out the truth takes that away, unless it’s the outcome you want. Abby felt nothing at first, just a kind of numbness. She put her arms around Marcus automatically, let him provide the comfort he thought she needed. Then as she rested her head on his shoulder, she felt relief more than anything. It was surprising, because she’d been troubled since the moment Marcus had come to her townhouse and told her his suspicions, but now that she knew she could deal with it. There were plans to be made, steps to be taken. She pulled back from Marcus, dry-eyed for a change.

“We need to go to Boston. We can’t put it off any longer.”

“I know.” He stroked her hair, ran his fingers down the side of her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I think I am. I want this over with. All of it.”

“We need a couple more weeks to get everything in place for taking down your stepfather, but we can confront Cage now, see what happens after that. I’ll call Wallace, tell him we’re coming to see them. He’ll think it’s so I can sign the papers to get the money he’s promised me.”

“What a terrible mess this all is,” said Abby. “I never thought they were like this. How did I not see it?”

Marcus smiled lovingly at her. “Because you have a big heart, and you always see the best in people, but people with Cage’s condition are masters at hiding it, you know that. And as for Wallace, he’s fooled everyone; everyone that isn’t as corrupt as him at least. It’s not your fault.”

He put his arms around her again and Abby linked hers around his neck. They kissed, and then both parted with a sigh.

“I’ll go call him. Dinner smells wonderful, by the way.”

Abby watched him as he walked over to the sofa, sat down. He took a deep breath, then he pressed the screen. She picked up her knife, continued chopping the vegetables, the rhythmic slicing of each one calming her, even as the clatter of the knife against the board grew louder and faster.

\---

Thursday, and it was snowing heavily as they headed towards Boston. The I84 was shut north of Hartford, so they were taking the 95 the whole way. Marcus was hunched over the steering wheel of the Jeep, peering out at the red taillights of the car in front, which was about as far as they could see.

“Katharine Hepburn used to live here,” he said as they passed a sign for Old Saybrook in Connecticut.

“I know. You can’t tell a Boston girl New England history, Marcus,” said Abby. “She’s legendary in these parts.”

“Of course, yes.” He glanced briefly at her, a tight smile on his face.

They’d been listening to a podcast but without much enthusiasm and had lapsed into silence for the last forty miles or so. Abby was thinking about the conversation they’d had yesterday and most of last night, the strategies they’d discussed, the various outcomes they’d considered and tried to prepare for. She felt as ready as she would ever be for confronting Cage, but her long experience in the courtroom had taught her not to take anything for granted, that anything could happen and probably would.

She looked out of the window as the exit for Old Saybrook came and went. They were halfway to Boston. Another two hours, assuming the conditions didn’t get any worse, and they’d be there. Then it would all come out about Cage and the whole sorry stalker business would be over, one way or another.

\---

Kane turned off the interstate before they reached the city, drove into the Brookline neighbourhood which defined the word suburb with its wide tree-lined streets and large houses. The further along the road they drove, the fewer houses there were until they were effectively driving through a country park.

“Take a right here,” said Abby pointing at a road that was little more than a lane. Kane would have missed it if she hadn’t said. He drove slowly down the ungritted road.

“Right here. There’s a gate,” she said.

Kane turned and stopped outside a large wrought iron gate hung between two huge limestone posts. There was no sign of a house beyond the gate, just a curving driveway and more trees.

“I’ll let us in.” Abby jumped out of the car, letting a blast of cold air in as she did, and walked around the front to one of the posts. She punched a number into a keypad then returned to her seat. The gate slowly opened, and Kane drove through.

The drive was long and windy, landscaped gardens to either side. Kane drove for a full minute with still no sign of the house, then at last he turned a corner and it came into view.

“Oh, wow!” he said, unable to contain his surprise at the size of it. He’d known Abby’s family were wealthy from his investigations into her background but seeing that expressed in her home was still a shock. The house wasn’t quite as large as the Governor’s Mansion he'd been to an event at once, but close.

“I know. Don’t,” said Abby with a sigh.

“It’s beautiful,” said Kane to make her feel better, although he thought the house was ostentatious even for his taste. They both stayed in the Jeep, Kane staring at the huge limestone façade of the house with its portico entrance flanked by identical wings with large windows and balconies.

“It’s too much,” said Abby, opening the door and getting out.

“It’s certainly designed to impress.”

“If that kind of thing impresses you,” she said, giving him a look.

“It’s where you were brought up, so it means something to me.” Kane put his arm around her and she slipped hers around his waist. They walked past the fountain with its cherub spouting water and up to the front door.

“I’d better ring the doorbell. Mother appreciates the formalities.”

“Of course,” replied Kane, thinking about the farmhouse in Ithaca, and how they’d come and gone there as they pleased, treating it like their own, even before it was his. He couldn’t imagine ever treating this house as his own. The thought surprised him, because this was something he’d always aspired to; not this level of wealth, because that came only with old, old money or greed and corruption, but something similar. Didn’t he buy his own apartment in order to impress? Not that anyone had ever really been there in the end, until Abby, who wasn’t impressed by shows of wealth, having left behind her more than Kane could ever have.

She rang the bell and they stood on the top step shivering in their winter coats, their arms around each other, waiting for it to be opened. It felt to Kane like he was waiting for his doom. Once the door was opened and they were let in, the scene they’d prepared for would unfold, and there’d be no stopping it. There’d be no going back. He squeezed Abby’s arm tighter. She looked up at him and he deposited a kiss on her cold lips.

“I’ve got your back, no matter what,” he said.

“I know. Thank you.”

An indistinct figure appeared behind the frosted glass of the double door, and then it opened. Kane expected a maid or footman or someone in uniform but it was Elizabeth Griffin-Wallace herself.

“Hello, darling,” she said, holding the door wide. She nodded at Kane as he passed her. “Mr Kane.”

“Hi, mom,” said Abby, and Elizabeth held out her arms for Abby to fall into.

Kane took the opportunity to look around. They were in a huge hallway, the same pale limestone as the exterior, with a marble floor and an enormous curved staircase with wrought iron balustrade. It should be cold, but spotlights warmed the ceiling and reflected light down onto the walls and the floor.

“You have a beautiful home,” said Kane dutifully when Elizabeth and Abby parted.

“Thank you. We’re in the sitting room,” Elizabeth said, and she led Kane and Abby down a long marble hallway that reminded Kane of a Greek mausoleum with its fluted columns and the same pale stone throughout. He really was going to his doom.

The sitting room was less formal than Kane imagined, although everything was still from the same palette of creams and whites and pale greys. It was as though the family was scared of colour. Two large arched windows showed a view of a perfectly manicured lawn surrounded by trees. In front of one of them was a long grey sofa and sitting on it was Dante Wallace. Kane felt cold looking at him. He was pale as well, from his white hair to his colourless face. He almost blended into the background. He didn’t rise to greet them, just nodded stony-faced.

“Kane,” he said. “Abigail.”

“Hello, Dante,” said Abby in a tight voice.

How hard this must be for her, looking at the man who may have killed her father, definitely had her colleague killed, and who had set her up. Kane thought she was remarkably stoic given the circumstances. It was hard enough for him to look at the man without punching him.

A maid appeared then, dressed in a black and white uniform. It was difficult to reconcile all of this with the Abby he knew and loved. He would never have guessed she grew up like this if he hadn’t known.

“Jemima will take your coats,” said Elizabeth, and Kane shrugged out of his and handed it to the young girl.

Abby did the same. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve met before?”

“No, ma’am,” said Jemima.

“Jemima’s new,” said Elizabeth. “It was a lovely surprise when Dante said you were coming to visit, darling. Why don’t you both take a seat? Can I get you some tea or coffee?”

“No, we’re fine, thank you,” replied Abby.

Elizabeth dismissed Jemima then sat next to Dante, gesturing to the other long sofa, and Kane and Abby perched on the edge of it next to each other, their legs touching. Abby put her hand on his knee, and Kane folded his hand over it, squeezed her fingers. Dante watched them coolly.

“Is Cage here?” said Abby.

“He’s in his room, I think. Do you want to see him?” said Elizabeth.

“In a moment.” Abby cleared her throat. Kane could feel her hand shaking beneath his; he held it tighter. “We haven’t come here just for a visit, although it is lovely see you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it down to New York as I said I would. Everything is just so hectic all the time.” Elizabeth smiled at Abby, and Kane had to bite his tongue yet again at the sheer lack of interest she showed in her daughter and her life. He would say something if they weren’t here under extraordinary circumstances. He didn’t want to derail their plan of action.

“That’s okay. So, erm, as you know, I’ve been receiving threatening texts and letters since I was arrested. Obviously, I’ve wanted to know who they were from, and we, that is me and Marcus and his team, we’ve been investigating who might be the sender.”

Kane watched Elizabeth and Dante for their reactions while Abby was talking. Elizabeth seemed interested, her lips set in a pout as though she was thinking who it might be. Dante’s pale face remained unmoved, but his rheumy blue eyes were narrowed slightly.

“Do you think you know who it is?” said Elizabeth sitting straighter.

“I do, yes.” Abby fell silent, the next step of saying the name out loud to her family perhaps too daunting. Kane remained silent as well, giving Abby time to work up the courage.

“Well, tell us, darling. Don’t keep us in suspense!”

“I’m afraid you’re not going to like it.”

Elizabeth looked confused. “Who is it?”

Abby took a deep breath. “It’s Cage. Cage has been sending them to me.”

A heavy silence descended for a moment; it was as though something had sucked all the air out of the room and no one could breathe or speak. Then Elizabeth gave a small laugh.

“No, darling. What do you mean, it’s Cage? Of course it’s not.”

“I’m afraid it is, mom. We’re quite certain.”

“You’ve put her up to this,” said Dante suddenly, rising from his chair to loom over Kane.

“I have not!” replied Kane, and he stood so that he was face to face with the old man. “This is the last thing I would want for Abby, but it is true. My investigation has been thorough. There is no doubt.”

He was still holding Abby’s hand and she tugged on it. He looked down at her and her eyes were pleading with him not to be aggressive. He didn’t want to sit back down because that would give the man dominance, which was what Dante wanted. On the other hand, he was here for Abby, to do what was best for her. He returned to his seat.

“We need to talk about this civilly,” said Abby. “I wanted to tell you first before we talk to Cage, so we can discuss how best to manage this.”

“Abigail, darling, I know you’ve been through a lot and you don’t understand why it has happened to you, but to think that Cage is in any way involved in this is ludicrous.”

“I have proof, mom, if you’ll let me show you.”

Kane opened his briefcase and took out the letters and the printed texts and passed them to Elizabeth. He wasn’t interested in convincing Dante because he was sure the man already knew.

“These are copies of all the threats Abby received. You can see the consistent misspelling of the word you’re.”

Elizabeth shuffled through them and looked up at Kane and Abby with a shrug.

“When I came to see Abby and you were all in her apartment I wanted to test my suspicion that Cage was involved and so I deliberately wound him up about Abby, his feelings for her and my involvement with her.”

“A couple of days later Marcus received this in the post,” said Abby.

Kane handed over the letter and envelope he’d received. “I wasn’t surprised to get it because I’d played for it when I was talking to Cage. I was trying to goad him into doing something, and he did.”

“This isn’t proof!” said Dante, who had taken a few steps away from Kane but was still standing.

“That’s what I said when Marcus told me, but he’d sent the envelope for forensic analysis and a couple of days ago the results came back. He made a mistake this time, and his DNA was on the envelope. There’s no doubt in my mind, mom. I’m so sorry.”

Elizabeth looked bewildered as she held the envelope in her hands. She was shaking her head as she looked at Abby. “Why? Why would he do this?”

“You know he has antisocial personality disorder?” said Kane.

“How do you know about that?” said Dante sharply.

“We know everything.” Kane fixed him with a long, pointed look. Dante grimaced, then looked towards Elizabeth.

Abby moved to sit next to her mom. “Why didn’t you tell me he was diagnosed with that condition?”

“We just... well...” She glanced up at Dante. “We didn’t think it would affect you. You weren’t living here when we found out, and you don’t see him that often. There was no reason for you to know.”

“I could have helped though. Him, or you. He’s family.”

Kane shook his head, part in admiration for Abby and part in disbelief that her first thought even after everything these people had put her through was for them and how to help them. At times like this he didn’t feel worthy of her, because his own thoughts were dark and not at all charitable. He was worried about Dante, about what was going on in that calculating head. He must know by now they knew about more than what Cage had been up to. He’d be thinking of how to save himself first, and his son second. Abby and her mom probably weren’t even on his list. What was he thinking?

“There really isn’t anything you could do, darling. He sees someone, a specialist, and he’s doing well.”

“He’s not doing well, mom! He’s been stalking me.”

“He has feelings for Abby,” said Kane, wanting to move the conversation along in case Cage interrupted them. “Unhealthy feelings. I think he wanted to have some control over her, to be in her thoughts even if she didn’t know it was him. Maybe he hoped she would move back here. I’m not a psychologist but I’ve consulted with one and she said it’s a recognisable pattern of behaviour for people with Cage’s condition. He resents me and my relationship with Abby because I’m taking her away from him and I have something with her that he wants but can never have. I’m profoundly concerned about what he will do if he isn’t stopped.”

“Oh, Abigail, he wouldn’t hurt you. I can’t believe he would.”

“You need to stop being in denial, mom. What did you take him to the specialist for when you came to visit me in New York? What happened to prompt going to an expert in his condition, because I believe something must have happened, something that scared you.”

“It was a precaution, that’s all,” said Dante.

“Against what? What did he do?”

Elizabeth sighed deeply. “He’d been behaving oddly for a while. Getting angry for no reason, more so than usual, ranting about things that made no sense to me and Dante. Then Jemima found some... things in his room and, erm, well that’s when we decided to seek further opinion.”

“What did you find?” said Kane, although he thought he could guess what some of it might be.

Elizabeth looked at Dante for help, but he moved away, stood at the window looking out onto the garden, his arms folded across his chest.

“They were under his bed. She doesn’t normally go in his room but it was such a mess and I was sick of it so I told her to give it a deep clean and she found rope and handcuffs and this horrible ski mask thing. She showed them to me and when we looked further under his bed there was a bag and it had knives in it and other strange things. I thought he was planning to rob somebody; he’d got in trouble for that once before, a long time ago. You remember the Morgans, Abigail? He got caught on their premises once, gave Mrs Morgan a terrible fright. We persuaded her not to call the police and he never did it again.”

Kane listened in growing horror as she stuttered over her explanation. How could a judge, a woman of her experience, be so naïve about the true nature of her stepson? How blind did you have to be not to see what was really going on?

“He wasn’t going to commit a burglary!” he said, and he stood because he could barely contain his anger. “That’s a rape kit!”

Everyone looked at him. Abby with her eyes sad and knowing, Elizabeth open-mouthed with shock, Dante cold and glaring.

“No,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head. “He’s not like that.”

“He wants your daughter!” Kane shouted, his anger loose now, uncontrollable. “That kit was for her! Can’t you see that?”

“Marcus,” said Abby, a warning in her voice.

“No, Abby. We’ve been polite enough. They’ve known something all along. They’ve known something wasn’t right with him. Didn’t you wonder when Abby got those texts? Didn’t you consider even for a second that it could be him? You chose not to tell us about his condition when you knew I was looking into everyone associated with Abby. You chose not to tell us his behaviour was escalating. Instead you hid him away, wouldn’t let me meet him or talk to him. I had to come around under a ruse to finally see him. Now we know why. You knew!”

Elizabeth’s normally cool façade finally crumbled, and she turned to Abby with tears in her eyes. “I didn’t know. I never thought it was anything to do with you.”

Abby put her arms around Elizabeth, pulled her into a hug. “It’s okay.”

“Well HE knew!” said Marcus, pointing at Dante. “He’s known all along. He knows EXACTLY what Cage is like.”

“This is all getting out of hand,” said Dante. “What you’re suggesting is preposterous.”

“I’m not SUGGESTING anything!” said Kane, heading towards Dante. He pointed a finger at him in his anger, almost touching his chest. “I have proof. PROOF! Your son is a danger to Abby, and I want to know what you’re going to do about it.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

Kane turned at the sound of an angry male voice to see Cage standing in the doorway of the sitting room. He was dressed all in black like a stupid ridiculous ninja, and he was glaring at Kane. Damn it! Now they were going to have to confront him without agreement from Dante and Elizabeth to their plan of action.

“Nothing, son,” said Dante.

“It’s not nothing. We want to talk to you,” said Kane.

“Get your hands off my father.”

“I’m not touching your father.” Kane put his hands in the air, backed away from Dante so as not to antagonise Cage further.

“Cage, darling, why don’t you sit down and we can have a chat.” Elizabeth gestured to the sofa Kane and Abby had vacated, but Cage didn’t move.

“Why would I want to sit down and chat with you? What are you doing here?” His eyes were darting from Elizabeth to Dante to Kane, finally coming to rest on Abby. His pupils were huge, so black they eclipsed the brown of his irises. Kane wondered if he’d taken something. It could be his prescribed drugs, he supposed.

Abby stood and went towards him. Alarmed, Kane moved as well but she glanced at him and shook her head slightly to tell him to stay. It took all the strength he had not to move. His hands clenched into fists, and he leaned forward onto the balls of his feet so he was ready for whatever might happen.

“Why don’t you come and sit down and talk to me,” she said, smiling gently at him.

She sat on the sofa and Cage looked at everyone in the room again before moving to sit next to her. He perched on the edge of the sofa, his fingers tapping on his knees.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?” he said.

“We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we? All your life. I was twelve when you were born. I remember my dad taking us to see you and you were the tiniest thing. You had lots of brown hair.” She smiled at the memory.

Cage shrugged. “So?”

“So, I think that we should be able to tell each other things, anything, really. Things that upset us or bother us or how we feel about things. Don’t you?”

“Not really. You’re not my mother. Neither is she,” he said, pointing at Elizabeth.

Abby took a long breath, looked up at Kane. He gave her a supportive smile although he wasn’t sure what she was doing. It hadn’t been in the plan for her to talk to him like this, and alone effectively.

“Well, I would like to talk to you, because I think you’ve been doing some things lately that have been upsetting me, and I’d like for it to stop.” She looked kindly at him but Kane could tell she was nervous because she was gripping one hand with the other to stop them from shaking.

Cage immediately tensed up, edged away from Abby. “What do you mean doing things? I haven’t done anything to you.”

“We know it’s you who’s been sending Abby the threatening texts and letters, and the one to me,” said Kane, stepping closer to the sofa. He didn’t like the look in Cage’s eyes, wanted to be within striking distance but without alarming him too much.

“Bullshit! Why would I do that? You’re crazy.”

“You left your DNA on the envelope you sent to me,” said Kane. “There’s no doubt.”

“It’s okay, Cage. We can sort it out, get you help,” said Abby. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

Cage looked at Dante, his eyes frantic. “Dad! Tell them they’re wrong. Tell them this is all bull!”

“There’s no hiding from this, son. Abigail is right, you need help.”

“Oh, no, no, no! No way! You’re not dumping this all on me!”

Before Kane could move, he had jumped off the sofa and was scrabbling on a table behind it. Abby half turned to see what he was doing, Kane started moving towards him, but everything seemed to slow like he was in a dream and he couldn’t move fast enough. There was a glint of silver in the light streaming through the window behind Cage, and then the silver moved quick as lightning towards Abby. Kane saw it was some kind of thin knife, like the ones used to open envelopes. A second later Cage was behind Abby, holding it against her throat.

“Stop!” Cage said in a cold voice. “Stop or I’ll kill her.”

Kane stopped just inches away from Abby and Cage. He looked at her; her eyes were wide and frightened, but she was calm. She gave him a sort of half frown, half nod which he took to mean she was okay. He was far from okay, his heart pounding in his chest, its percussive rhythm loud in his ears. He looked around, trying to take everything in, see what was available to him, what he could use if necessary. Elizabeth was still on the sofa. She looked worried but was also calm. Dante was behind Kane, still standing in front of the window. He looked completely unconcerned, arms folded across his chest.

“There’s no need for this, Cage,” said Elizabeth quietly. “Let Abby go and we’ll talk.”

“Don’t TELL me what to do!” said Cage. “You are not my mother; you have never been my mother.”

God, the boy was a petulant child, thought Kane. Twenty-six years old and behaving like a spoiled brat. A spoiled brat with a knife, and an unpredictable nature.

“I don’t pretend to be your mother, but you know this can’t go anywhere. End it now and it will all be sorted out.”

“No. You’re going to lock me up. That’s all you’ve ever wanted, me out of your life.”

“That’s not true.”

Cage shook his head dismissively. He turned his attention to Kane. “Sit down,” he said.

“I’m fine where I am,” replied Kane.

“I said sit!”

Kane remained unmoved for now. He didn’t want to give up his position close to Abby. If Cage dropped his attention for a moment he could have him.

“Sit down!” yelled Cage, and he waved his arm at Kane to indicate the sofa.

It was the hand holding the knife, and in that instant, Abby lunged at him, knocking it from his hand. Kane dived on it, grabbed it, then grabbed Abby, pulled her towards him. Cage stood stunned for a moment, and then he turned and ran. Kane held Abby tightly to him.

“You were amazing!” he said, and he felt tears of relief starting to form in his eyes.

“So were you.” She looked up at him, her own eyes damp.

“We’d better call the police.” Kane took his phone out of his pocket and dialled 911. He was waiting to be connected when the door banged open and Abby jumped and turned in his arms. Kane looked up.

Cage was standing in the doorway, and he had a gun in his hand. Kane’s stomach did a flip and he felt sick. He held tighter to Abby.

“Nobody move!” shouted Cage. “Nobody fucking move!”

“Nine-one-one what’s your emergency?” said the voice in Kane’s ear.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby and Kane face a life-threatening situation.

Time slowed for Abby as her focus was drawn to Cage and his gun. It was like one of those film special effects where something shatters in slow motion but instead of breaking apart, everything came together until she was seeing with perfect clarity, present only in this moment, this space. Cage and his gun filled her sight and her mind. He looked crazed, his eyes huge and flashing angrily. The gun was small, a Colt M1911. Abby had seen enough of them, both legal and illegal, to recognise one instantly.

Marcus’s arm tightened around her. She could feel the heat of him, hear his quickening breaths. She reinforced her own grip on his waist, her fingers beneath his jacket, snagging his shirt, squeezing his soft flesh. It was comforting to have him so close.

“Cage,” she said, her voice coming out shaky, betraying her nervousness. “There’s no need for this.”

“Shut up! I want you all to sit down.” He waved the gun at the sofas, but nobody moved.

“Son. Stop this. It won’t achieve anything good.” Dante’s voice was unwavering behind Abby. How did he sound so calm? Of course, he had ice instead of blood, and a stone for a heart. Nothing probably bothered him.

“You don’t tell me what to do anymore. I’m sick of being your puppet.”

“I think you need to keep calm and think about this. Think about what you’re doing. Don’t jeopardise everything we’ve worked for.”

What did that mean? thought Abby, watching Cage’s reactions closely. Was Cage part of Dante’s organisation? Or had he been his puppet all along? Had the letters been part of Dante’s plan? This was all so confusing. She felt as though she’d been transported into an alternative universe, or more like a parallel one, where another life had been existing along with hers, with the same people in it, only they were different, twisted. The truth was, this was her real life, her one life, and these were people she’d loved and cared for and they were not who she’d thought they were.

Cage didn’t answer, just gestured towards the sofas again. Marcus started to lead Abby towards the one they’d been sitting on earlier. Cage moved towards them, reached out with the hand that wasn’t holding the gun and grabbed Abby’s arm, pulling her towards him.

“What are you doing?” she shouted, trying to pull away. Marcus pulled her towards him, and Cage’s grip lessened, but he didn’t let go completely.

“Get your hands off her!” Marcus shouted, pulling Abby one way while Cage was pulling her the other.

“She’s sitting with me,” said Cage calmly.

“Like hell she is!” Marcus tugged hard and then there was a click as Cage let the safety off the gun. He pointed it at Marcus.

“It would be a pleasure to shoot you, so don’t give me a reason,” he snarled.

“Marcus, it’s fine. It’s fine.” Abby looked at him. His dark eyes were wide and desperate.

“No way. I’m not letting you go with him.”

“We’re not going anywhere, are we, Cage?” Abby said, turning back to him. “We’re going to sit here and we’re going to talk it all out. It’s time we got everything out into the open.”

“Abby, no,” pleaded Marcus.

“It’s okay.” She nodded, gave him a brief smile imbued with as much love and warmth as she could. “I’ll be fine.”

Cage pulled on her arm again and Marcus reluctantly let go.

“Give me your phone,” said Cage, gesturing to the phone Marcus was holding in his other hand.

He’d been trying to contact the emergency services when this all started. Had he got through? Had they heard any of this? Hope sparked in Abby. They just had to remain calm, get Cage to talk, and they would get through this. She had faith.

Marcus handed his phone to Cage, who threw it on the floor and stamped on it. “I want all your phones.” The same thing happened with the other phones and then Marcus sat on the sofa across from Abby, leaving a space next to Elizabeth which Dante eventually filled. Cage pushed Abby down and then sat next to her, his gun pointed at her.

“Well, isn’t this nice. All the family together.”

Abby looked at her mom, who was sitting with her hands neatly folded in her lap. She seemed concerned but stoic, which was true to form. She’d been like that when Abby’s father had died, and throughout Jake’s illness. ‘We just have to get on with it, darling,’ she would say. ‘Crying doesn’t do any good.’ Abby had learned to cry a lot by the time the two men she’d loved most in the world had been buried, and she disagreed with her mother. Crying was cathartic, helped ease the pain if only for a short time. She wasn’t going to do it now, though. Now was the time for the family stoicism.

“Do you admit sending the texts and letters to Abby and to me?” said Marcus, sounding like he was cross examining Cage.

“You already know I did.”

“Why did you do it?” said Abby, turning her focus onto Cage.

“He thinks it’s because I want you,” said Cage, looking over at Marcus.

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Then why?” Abby tried to keep her voice soft and unthreatening.

“I’ve hated you all my life,” he said with venom.

His answer shocked Abby. She’d figured there must be something deeper to his feelings for her. People didn’t generally send such horrible things to those they loved; there had to be something else, a resentment, or a jealousy. She hadn’t expected him to be so vehement though.

“Why? I thought we always got on okay. We did a lot together when you were younger.”

Cage shook his head. “You know for someone who’s allegedly so clever, you’re really dense sometimes. You took him away from us, you and her,” he said, looking at Elizabeth.

“That’s not true, Cage,” said Elizabeth. “Your father and I didn’t get together until we were both widowed.”

“You didn’t exactly wait a long time,” said Marcus, and Abby gave him a look meant to deter him from antagonising everybody but he was too busy glaring at Elizabeth and Dante and so it was wasted.

“That really is none of your business,” said Dante.

“I’m afraid you made it my business when you hired me to represent Abby. Did your romance blossom over the graveside or was it earlier than that?”

“Marcus,” said Abby, but a part of her was interested to know if what he insinuated was true. She’s always thought the marriage happened hastily, but had pushed the uneasy feelings down, having too much else on her mind at the time. Elizabeth looked affronted.

“I’ve told you there was nothing until later.”

“Seems pretty quick to me,” muttered Marcus, glancing at Abby.

“Says the man who seduced my daughter barely two months after meeting her,” replied Elizabeth.

“I’ve known Abby a long time!” said Marcus indignantly.

“And were clearly very fond of her if your article about her is anything to judge!”

“Perhaps when we hired you, you realised just how wealthy she was, saw an opportunity,” spat Dante. “A man like you, all you care about is money.”

“That’s not...” sputtered Marcus. “I don’t...”

Cage cleared his throat, and everyone turned to look at him. Abby had almost forgotten the situation they were in, but then she looked down, saw the gun millimetres from her side.

“You’re all liars. All he ever wanted was you and her. Did you know I’m only here because my mother was so desperate to keep hold of him? She figured if he wanted a child so much she’d give him one of his own, but I was never good enough.”

“You really are talking nonsense,” said Dante. “I’ve had enough of this.” He started to stand, and Cage grabbed a tighter hold of Abby, pressed the gun into her side. She could feel its cold metal even through her blouse.

“Sit back down or I’ll put a bullet in her.”

“Abby!” said Marcus, fear making his voice shake, and he started to stand as well.

“Sit down, both of you! I won’t give you another warning.”

Abby nodded at Marcus and he sat down. She held his gaze and tried to will self-control into him. She needed courtroom Marcus, the clever lawyer, the one who was always thinking ahead. She needed Kane. He lost his head when it came to her, though; that was the trouble.

“I heard you arguing with mom about me. I heard you say time and again how much you wished I was like Abigail. You were never at home, and when I’d ask mom where you were she’d say ‘with them’ and I knew she meant Mrs Griffin and Abigail. I hated you,” he said, turning his cold eyes on Abby.

“I’m sorry, Cage,” Abby said. “I had no idea.” She shared a confused look with Marcus. They’d both thought that Cage was motivated by a twisted obsession with her, that he had some fantasy about her moving back with them. Now it seemed he’d wanted to hurt her all along.

“What about the texts to Abby at Christmas saying you knew who she was with and that I wasn’t the man for her, and then the letter to me?” said Marcus, looking equally as puzzled.

Cage laughed. “You think you’re so clever, Mr Big Shot lawyer. So smug. So self-satisfied. It was a joy fooling you. When I found out Abigail was opening her legs for you, I figured it was the perfect opportunity to make things more personal. Switch it around, put you onto a different scent. You followed it right to her front door, came sniffing around me. It was hilarious seeing you think you’d got the better of me. I knew what you wanted me to do, and so I obliged.” He laughed again, then sighed. “Too easy, really.”

“You’re a twisted little bastard,” snarled Marcus.

“I take that as a compliment coming from you. Takes one to know one, eh? You’re just like him, my so-called father. He’s twisted too, but I expect you know that. He always gets what he wants. He got these two, didn’t he?” He nodded at Abby and Elizabeth.

Abby was stunned at first by Cage’s revelations, was struggling to make sense of what he was saying about Dante and his motivations, and then a terrible thought came to her. What if they were wrong about her father, or about why Dante had killed him? What if it wasn’t something Charles had found out about? What if it was to get him out of the way so he could have his wife and child? Bile rose up from her stomach and tasted bitter as she swallowed it back down. She turned to look at Dante.

“Is that why you killed my dad?” she said coldly.

“What?” said Elizabeth, shock making her jaw slack, her mouth fall open.

“Pardon?” said Dante, an expression appearing for the first time on his usually blank face. It was a frown, one that seemed to be of genuine confusion. Abby faltered.

“My father. I know you killed him or had him killed.” Everyone was staring at her now, including Marcus. It hadn’t been in the plan to bring up Dante’s crimes now, but everything they’d thought was true wasn’t, and the plan was useless. “I want to know the truth!” she cried.

“Abigail, darling...” ventured Elizabeth, but Abby silenced her with a glare.

“Mom, please stop being in denial about all of this. You MUST know what kind of man you’ve married. How can you not?”

“I...”

“I can assure you I did not kill your father,” said Dante firmly.

“I know you did. The scene was staged. Marcus found a detective who was on the scene. The whole official report was a lie.”

Elizabeth cried out on hearing that, and Abby felt bad momentarily that her mom had to find out this way, but they were getting close to something now. The truth was in her grasp and she wasn’t about to let it go.

“Tell me the truth!”

“It wasn’t him,” said Cage, “although it might as well have been, and I’m sure he wasn’t too bothered that it happened. He just did the clearing up.”

Cage’s words took a moment to sink into Abby’s brain. Time slowed again and she stared unblinking at him. Dante hadn’t killed her father, but he’d cleared up after it. That could only mean one thing. She asked the question she already knew the answer to.

“Who did?” she said slowly.

“I think you know,” he said, a twisted smile on his face.

“I want to hear it from you.”

“It was an accident, really, for the most part,” he said, settling back against the sofa as though he was about to tell them a bedtime story. He relaxed the hand that was pressing the gun into Abby’s side and it dropped away from her. She glanced at Marcus and saw that he had noticed too, not that either of them could do anything about it. He could shoot anyone of them quicker than they could grab him.

“I wanted your family out of our lives,” continued Cage. “My mom killed herself, you know. It wasn’t a sudden illness like he tells everyone. I blame your mother; she was taking my father away from us, and once mom was gone I knew it was only a matter of time before he moved on. I wanted to stop it, but I knew he didn’t care about me, would never listen to me, so I figured I’d tell your father, and then he’d stop working for my dad and you’d all go away.”

Abby felt a strange twinge of compassion for Cage despite the circumstances. He’d been what, thirteen, fourteen when her father had died, and he’d already lost his mom. He must have felt helpless, angry, hurt.

“This was all in your own head,” said Dante

“It wasn’t,” said Cage, looking Abby straight in the eye. He was certainly convincing. “I saw them more than once, all over each other.”

Abby looked at her mother, who looked away. So, it was true! She’d been having an affair with Dante while Charles was still alive. Abby grew cold from head to toe. Her heart felt as though it froze, and then shattered into millions of pieces. She was too stunned to cry, to speak. Eventually, she realised Cage was still speaking, and she turned her attention back to him, not looking at Marcus deliberately because if she saw any sympathy or love in his eyes she wouldn’t be able to hold it together.

“I lured him to a meeting in a hotel room, pretended to be a client of my father’s who needed a lawyer. I told him everything, but he was as stupid as you when it came to his family and he refused to believe it. We argued; I got upset, and I pushed him, and he fell and he just lay there. There was no blood, nothing. I thought maybe he was pretending so I’d go away, but when I looked at him I could see he was dead. I panicked, and then I called my father and he came over and sorted everything out. Course then he married her anyway, even though he knew what had happened with your father. So I was responsible for them getting together after all. Ironic, isn’t it?” He laughed.

Abby stared into his wide, crazy eyes. She didn’t know who she was anymore, who anyone was. She turned slowly towards Dante and her mother, fixed them with a glare. Anger built inside her, warming her cold body. “You were his friend, his wife! How could you do that? How could you sneak around behind his back, and then cover up his murder?” She started to rise because she wanted to get to Dante, to dig her fingernails into him, to shake him and get him to tell the truth. She forgot Cage and the gun, until Marcus cried out.

“Abby!” he said.

She froze, and then an arm yanked her back down, and she fell onto the sofa next to Cage, the gun once again pressed into her side.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised,” said Cage. “This is what he does all the time. All his life he’s cheated and stolen and murdered. Your dad was doomed the minute my mom died. I just got to him first, that’s all, did the dirty work for him.”

“What are you talking about, Cage?” said Elizabeth, finally finding her voice.

“I’m talking about him! How he controls everything and everyone. I bet he can’t even tell you how many people he’s had murdered over the years. The only thing he can’t control is me, and that’s why he has me drugged all the time.”

“It’s time for you to be quiet now, boy,” said Dante in a low voice. "You have more to lose than me.”

“Do I? What exactly do I have to lose? You’ve already taken the things that matter from me! My mom, my life! I hate you!”

Cage started gesturing in his anger, waving the gun in the air. Abby saw Marcus start to move, and she opened her mouth to shout out to him, to tell him to stop, when there was movement to his right, and then a flash and a loud bang. A red mist sprayed over Abby’s blouse, and she looked around in horror as Cage slumped onto the sofa, blood pooling around him, staining the white a bright red.

“What the?” she managed, before she realised that Dante was holding a gun in the air. He’d shot Cage! Shot his own son!

“Get the gun!” shouted Marcus, but she was too shocked to move at first, and Dante’s arm turned in her direction, the gun in his hand.

That woke her, and she ducked down just as Marcus flung himself towards Dante and wrapped his arms around his legs, bringing him down. There was another loud bang and a scream. Abby scrambled for the gun that had fallen from Cage’s hand, grabbed it, turned and pointed it where Dante had been standing, but he was no longer there. He was lying on the floor, and Marcus was on top of him. Neither of them were moving.

“Marcus!” she yelled, and she jumped up, ran towards him. He didn’t answer. Her heart was in her mouth as she grabbed his arm, turned him and he rolled off Dante and landed on the floor.

“Oof!” he said hoarsely.

“Are you okay?” Abby looked him over, checking for blood or obvious wounds. She couldn’t see anything.

“Dante...” panted Marcus, and he waved his arm in the direction of her stepfather.

Abby turned and looked. The man hadn’t moved. His eyes were closed, and she couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

“Get his gun,” said Marcus with a wheeze, and Abby tried to stand but slipped in blood and ended up on her hands and knees, searching frantically for the gun. She found it on the floor beneath the sofa, grabbed it and crawled back to Marcus. She sat by his side, a gun in each hand. One pointed at Dante, the other at Cage.

“Marcus. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” she said, not taking her eyes off the two prone men.

“I’m winded. I don’t think I’m hurt,” he said, and then he sat up, his hand on his chest, a strangled wheeze emanating from him. His hand clasped around Abby’s, eased one of the guns from her grasp. “Are you okay?”

Abby nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

“I’m going to check on them. Cover me with your gun.” He got gingerly to legs that Abby could see were shaking and went first to Cage. He held his wrist, put his cheek over Cage’s mouth. He looked at Abby, shook his head. “He’s gone.”

Huge sobs welled up in Abby and came out as gasps, making her chest hurt. “What... about...” She nodded at Dante.

Marcus knelt beside him, put his fingers against his neck. Abby couldn’t hear anything except her heart pounding in her ears. “He’s breathing,” said Marcus. “Just.”

“We have to save him,” said Abby, and she crawled to Marcus, avoiding the blood that was still spreading out from beneath Dante.

Marcus looked at her. She looked at him. The unspoken words she knew they were both thinking were loud in the silence. “Yes,” he said at last. “He must face justice.”

“I’m sorry,” said a quiet voice, and Abby looked up to see her mom watching her, a tear rolling down her powdered cheek.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” said Abby, who had momentarily forgotten her mom and now felt guilty, a feeling which was rapidly being taken over by anger as she remembered everything Cage had said.

“No,” replied Elizabeth.

“You’d better call for an ambulance,” said Abby. “All our cell phones are crushed.”

Elizabeth got up slowly, seemingly in no hurry to save the man she’d destroyed everyone’s lives for. Abby turned back to Dante. She didn’t much care when the ambulance arrived or even if it saved him, but she didn’t want her or Marcus to be directly responsible for his death. Dante was on his back now, and Marcus was holding his jacket to the wound in his chest.

“Mom’s calling an ambulance,” said Abby, and she checked Dante’s vital signs. His pulse seemed thready, but at least he had one. His eyelids fluttered, and his eyes opened, stared up at Marcus.

“You’re finished,” Marcus said quietly, and Dante closed his eyes again, turned his head away.

\---

Three hours later, and the house was finally quiet. The ambulance had taken Dante and Elizabeth to hospital. The old man was clinging onto life, and they’d taken Elizabeth as a precaution given her age and that she was in shock. The Coroner had taken Cage’s body. The police had questioned Kane and Abby at length but had finally gone. Abby had dismissed Jemima the maid who’d been hiding in the kitchen since she’d heard the shots.

Kane was lying on the bed in Abby’s old bedroom. She had a lot of pictures on the walls – art prints, landscapes of New England, framed photos of her with various members of her family. There was a large one of her and her father. She was in her cap and gown and was proudly displaying her Harvard Law degree. He was standing beside her, his arm around her, a broad smile on his face. She was grinning. Kane’s heart swelled until it was painful. She was so happy, so innocent. On her bedside table was another picture, one of her laughing with her arms wrapped around a young man with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. He was kissing her cheek. It must be Jake.

The door opened and Abby walked in. She was damp from the shower, her long hair towel-dried and tousled. She was wearing an old pair of pyjama bottoms and her Harvard sweater she’d found in her drawer. Kane was in his boxers and one of her t-shirts; it was tight on him despite being over-sized, but his clothes were ruined, and he wasn’t about to wear anything that had belonged to any of the men in this house. He’d wanted to go to a hotel, but they were both exhausted and Abby wouldn’t leave until her mom was back from the hospital the next day. Kane couldn’t give two hoots about Elizabeth, but she wasn’t his mom, and Abby was upset enough, so he’d kept quiet.

Abby didn’t speak, just lay on the bed next to Kane. He held out his arm and she rolled into him, rested her head on his chest. He kissed her hair, held her tightly.

“Feeling a little better?” he said, knowing it was a stupid question.

“A bit,” she said softly.

“You were so brave,” he said. “So amazing.”

“So were you.” She looked up at him with her big brown eyes shiny with tears and Kane thought his heart would break under the strain of having so much love for her. It overwhelmed him at times.

“I love you so much.”

She stroked his chest. “I love you too.”

“Do you want to talk?” he said, brushing her hair softly with his fingers. It rustled as she shook her head.

“No. Not now. Let’s play that game.”

“What game?”

“The A-Z one.”

“If that’s what you want.”

She nodded, cuddled closer to him.

“Okay,” said Kane. “We’ll do capital cities this time. You start.”

She thought for a moment. “Athens.”

“Barcelona,” said Kane, pronouncing it with an approximation of a Spanish accent.

“Isn’t Madrid the capital of Spain?”

“Not if you’re from Catalonia.”

She looked up at him, the beginnings of a wry smile on her face. Kane looked innocently at her. She tutted and sighed, then settled back against his chest.

“Caracas,” she said, without making further comment on his choice of Barcelona.

“Dublin,” said Kane.

“Oh, you’ve been there.”

“I have. Beautiful city.”

“We’ll have to go,” mumbled Abby into his chest.

“We will. There’s lots we have to do, places to go, things I want to show you.”

He waited for her reply but there wasn’t one. He looked down. He couldn’t see her face but he could tell from her breathing that she’d fallen asleep. He was glad, because she needed the rest, and there’d be a lot to do in the coming days, not least of which was to get the truth about Dante and Romano out for everyone to know.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane and Abby deal with the aftermath of Boston, and there's news regarding Dante Wallace and Luca Romano.

“Why do I feel like a lamb to the slaughter?” said Kane as Abby pushed open the door to the coffee shop. She looked at him with a glint of amusement in her eyes.

“It will be fine. You’ve redeemed yourself in their eyes now. Niylah had nothing but praise for you when I spoke to her on the phone the other day. She’s a fan.”

“And Raven?” Kane followed Abby towards a table in the far side of the coffee shop. It had a view of the Brooklyn Bridge, the shores of his old borough just visible on the other side of the river.

“She’s fine too,” said Abby, in a voice that was just a little too bright for Kane’s liking.

“Hmmm,” he said, and then they were at the table and the two women they’d come to see were rising and greeting Abby with hugs and kisses. He stood a short distance away until the reunion was over. No one kissed or hugged him, but that wasn’t a surprise. He hadn’t been friendly to Raven the last time they’d met, and he’d fought a couple of bitter battles with Niylah in the past.

“You know, Marcus, of course,” said Abby, gesturing to him.

“Yes,” said Niylah and Raven in unison.

“Can I get you ladies a drink?” said Kane, instantly regretting his choice of the word ladies when he saw Raven struggling to contain a sarcastic comment or eye roll.

“I would love a coffee,” said Abby, smiling at him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Thank God he had her. “A flat white, I think, for a change.”

Kane took their orders and went to the counter. He bought them all donuts while he was there and was greeted with kinder smiles when he returned to the table laden with the treats.

“Thank you,” said Raven, choosing the apple cinnamon one he’d earmarked for himself.

“You’re welcome.” He took off his coat and scarf and hung them on the stand over Abby’s. Spring was in the air now March was here, but a chill wind had been blowing behind them on their walk to the shop and his hands were cold. He wrapped them around his mug of coffee to warm them.

“I’m sorry we haven’t been able to meet up until now,” said Abby.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I know things have been crazy for you both.” Raven bit into the donut and a juicy piece of apple dripped onto her finger. Kane watched enviously as she licked it off. He’d ended up with the jelly donut which was his least favourite.

“It’s been...” Abby shook her head. “This last month has just flown past.”

“We’ve spent most of our time with the FBI,” said Kane. “Endless interviews.”

“The DA’s office is complete bedlam. We were already in turmoil with Pike on sick leave and they brought that DA in from Queens, the one who prosecuted you, Stevens, and yesterday HE was arrested and taken away in handcuffs! If this goes on much longer, I’ll be in charge of the office because there’ll be no one else left! I can’t wait for you to come back.”

Abby glanced at Kane. “Erm, I don’t know yet what I’m going to do.”

“Oh,” said a crestfallen Raven.

“I’m so sorry this is all happening,” said Abby.

“This is not your fault,” said Kane, putting his hand on top of hers. “None of this has happened because of you.”

“I know, but...”

Abby had been struggling with feelings of guilt since the events at her family home in Boston, and even though Kane reassured her constantly that she had nothing to feel guilty about it was taking time for her to accept it. She was seeing a therapist, an old friend of his mother’s, which Kane would have laughed at the concept of a few months ago. It was helping though, slowly.

“Kane’s right,” said Raven. “What happened to you and Rafael was terrible and the only good thing is that it has brought all this corruption to light.”

“That has to be a first, you saying I’m right.”

Raven gave him a smile that bordered on warm. “Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

“Is that the best you can do?”

“I’m warming to you, so I’m keeping my insults benign.”

Kane smiled, and she smiled back.

“I think what Raven can’t bring herself to say is that you’ve been amazing throughout all of this,” said Niylah. She reminded Kane of his mom, in her dress at least, all floaty and jingly jangly and smelling of patchouli. “I was dubious when Abby told me you were her counsel, but you came through for her and, well, so much more than that. We’re grateful to you.”

“We are,” added Raven.

Kane glanced at Abby who was looking at him proudly. “Thank you, and thank you for being there for Abby when she needed you. It’s greatly appreciated.”

“I never thought Marcus Kane would make me cry,” said Raven, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Oh, come on now, Reyes. I’m sure I’ve had you weeping plenty of times in despair at my genius.” He flashed a grin at her, because the mood had become schmaltzy and that always made him uncomfortable.

Raven shook her head. “What do you see in him again, Abby?” she said, laughing.

“She loves me for my scrambled eggs,” replied Kane, and Abby sniggered.

“I do NOT want to know what that means,” said Raven.

“He is wonderful in the, erm, kitchen,” said Abby, continuing the joke.

Raven covered her face with her hands. “Please stop.”

They finished their donuts in a more companionable atmosphere. Kane felt like he’d broken the ice with the two women, which wasn’t something he would ever have cared about previously, but they were important people to Abby and therefore to him. He had to accommodate her friends in his life, socialise with them when necessary. The thought still made him shudder, but it would be more pleasant if they were on his side, or he was on theirs more likely. ‘You might even enjoy yourself’ Abby had said to him when she’d mooted going with her to meet Raven and Niylah.

“How’s your mom?” said Raven, sipping her coffee.

Abby took a deep breath and Kane took her hand again, squeezed it. It was still so painful for her talking about that day and everything associated with it.

“You know my mom. Full of New England stoicism.”

“I still can’t believe she was having an affair with him,” said Raven. “What was she thinking?”

“Raven!” said Niylah, nudging her.

“No, it’s okay. I’ve been trying to look back, see if there were signs, but you know I was at Harvard and then Jake got ill and I never really noticed anything. It had been going on a long time apparently.”

So long, that Abby had taken a DNA test, just in case her mom was still lying about the start of the affair, because along with her stoicism had come a complete denial about her role in any of what had happened. Kane hadn’t needed to wait for the results to know that Abby wasn’t Dante’s biological daughter. There was no way someone with a heart as big and warm as Abby’s had been created by those two soulless creatures.

“Shocking,” said Raven.

“We’re not really speaking. I don’t know what to say to her and she seems to have shut down. Won’t talk about it anyway.”

“There are rumours about Pike,” said Raven. “About his involvement and his convenient disappearance.”

“We can’t talk to you about the case,” replied Kane.

“Not yet,” said Abby, “but when this is all over we will.”

They left the coffee shop an hour later and strolled hand in hand along the waterfront.

“That went okay,” said Kane.

“Yes. Thank you for coming with me. You were great.”

“Anything for you.” He lifted her hand, kissed the back of it.

Abby led him to a bench and they sat on it. Kane put his arm around her, and she leant into him.

“I sat on this bench six months ago,” she said. “Not long after I was arrested.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. Niylah had given me some cases and I was so grateful but I still felt so hopeless, and restless. I didn’t know what to do, what was going to happen. That’s the day I came around to your apartment and cooked for you.”

“Is it really?” He looked down at her head and she looked up, a soft smile on her lips and in her brown eyes.

“It is.”

“That’s the day you fell in love with me,” Kane said, smiling down at her.

“Well, I wouldn’t quite go that far!”

“It’s the day I fell in love with you,” he murmured, and he put his hand on her cheek, caressed her soft skin. He kissed her, and she put her arm around him and kissed him back. They both sighed happily when they parted.

“I did love your note,” Abby said.

“Blessed note,” replied Kane softly. He let out a long sigh. “Shall we go home? I’m getting hungry.”

“You just had a donut!” said Abby, taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet.

Kane put his arm around her shoulder and she put hers around his waist. “I know, but now you’ve got me thinking about filet mignon.”

“You’re not getting filet mignon today. That takes time. I might make spaghetti.”

Kane shook his head as they walked. “From filet mignon to spaghetti. This is how relationships go. You get comfortable. Standards slip.”

“How would you know how relationships go? I’m the only one who’s ever put up with you long enough to even get to spaghetti.”

“I know, and I’m grateful. If we end up with frozen nuggets I’ll still be happy.”

“Idiot,” said Abby, squeezing him tightly.

“Loveable idiot.”

“Hmmm,” she said, laughing.

\---

Abby was sitting on the sofa in the living room, her feet on Marcus’s legs when her phone rang. “It’s your mom,” she said when she saw who was calling.

Marcus lowered his book. “Pretend we’re out,” he said, smiling.

“I can’t be out when it’s a cell phone. Anyway, it’s me she’s calling, and I always look forward to speaking to her.” She looked at him smugly and he stuck his tongue out at her playfully.

“She only ever wants to speak to you. I’m redundant.”

“That’s because you only ever grunt at her.” Abby swiped up and answered the call. “Hi, Vera.”

“Hi Abby, love. How’s things?” Vera’s warm voice reverberated in Abby’s ear and she settled back on the sofa.

“I’m fine. We’re both fine. How are you?”

“I’m glad winter’s nearly over. The cold seemed to last forever this time.”

“We had some snow here last week.”

“Damned weather can’t make up its mind.”

“How’s Flora coping with it all?”

“She doesn’t want to come out of her hut, love, not that I blame her.”

“I can’t wait to see her.”

“How long before you can get up here?”

“The FBI are taking their time getting their ducks in a row, even though we gave them most of the evidence they needed.”

“It’s the Romano case that’s holding things up,” said Marcus, who was clearly listening to her conversation and not reading his book.

“What was that, love?”

“Marcus said it’s the Romano case that’s causing the problem. We’d only just started connecting the dots between him and Dante, so they’ve still got a lot of work to do there.”

“They arrested him, though. They must feel confident.”

“Oh, yes. They won’t tell us much, but I believe that Dante has flipped on him.”

“Probably getting a good deal out it,” grumbled Marcus.

“What did Marcus say?” said Vera, who sometimes struggled to hear properly over the phone.

“Let me put you on speaker.” Abby pressed the button and took her feet off Marcus’s legs so she could sit closer to him. She held the phone in front of them.

“Hi, mom,” said Marcus.

“Hello, son. Are you looking after my Abby?”

Marcus raised his hands in the air, which of course Vera couldn’t see. “What about asking if she’s looking after me?”

“I know she’s looking after you, Marcus. That goes without saying.”

Marcus shook his head at Abby. “I’m third in the pecking order now. Flora, you, then me.”

Abby laughed. “He’s looking after me very well, Vera. He’s wonderful.”

“Good. How is That Man?” said Vera, referring to Dante. She refused to call him by his name, which Abby could understand because she felt that way too, but it was hard to break the habit of literally a lifetime.

“Not dead, unfortunately,” said Marcus with a grimace.

“They’re keeping him hidden somewhere. I don’t know if he’s still in hospital or prison or somewhere else entirely. No one will tell us.”

“I wish I could see you, Abby, sweetheart. I want to give you a big hug, both of you.”

Abby felt a surge of emotion as she often did when she was talking about the subject or talking to Vera. “I want that too. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, love.”

“I’m hoping to take a short break at Easter, assuming the FBI don’t still need us” said Marcus. “We’ll come up then.”

“Oh, that’s good. That’s only a few weeks away. Have you gone back to work yet, Abby?”

“I, erm, no, not yet. There’s been a lot to sort out and, erm, well I’m still under investigation by the ABA so I can’t go back to the DA’s office even if they asked me.”

The truth was she didn’t know if she wanted to go back, or what she would go back to. She knew from previous conversations with Raven that most of her former colleagues were hostile towards her. That was when they’d thought she’d killed Rafael of course, but since then she’d brought only more chaos to them. Would she even be welcome? It was a moot point anyway until the ABA’s investigation was complete.

“When will that be over?”

“I’m meeting with them next week. Hopefully it will be sorted out then or soon after.”

Vera sighed. “I’m sure it will be a formality, love.”

“Yes,” said Abby, whose faith in justice and the rule of law had been shaken to its core over the last six months. She wasn’t certain law was her calling or her passion anymore.

“Did you try that recipe I emailed you?”

Abby took the phone off speaker and resumed her previous position on the sofa so she could talk to Vera without the eye rolls and comic gestures from Marcus that usually accompanied her conversations with his mother, and which made her laugh.

“She sends you a big kiss,” said Abby to Marcus when she’d finished her call with Vera.

“Oh, yeah? Are you going to give it to me?”

“You want your mom’s kiss?”

Marcus didn’t answer, just dragged her legs further across his knee so that she slid along the sofa towards him. He pulled her up so she was straddling him.

“Well?” he said.

Abby leant forward, gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Is that it?” Marcus said, pretending to be wounded.

“What other kind of kiss does your mom give you?”

“I don’t want mom’s kiss now; I want yours.”

“Oh yeah?” Abby put her arms around his neck; Marcus slid his around her waist, his hands moving lower, clutching her ass.

“Mm-hmm,” he murmured.

She bent her head, captured his lips, gave him a kiss she definitely wouldn’t want his mother to see.

\---

“There’s a letter for you,” said Marcus as Abby walked through the door laden with bags from the grocery store. Abby put the bags on the kitchen counter and took the letter from Marcus, along with his proffered kiss.

She looked at the envelope with its logo of the American Bar Association printed at the top. She looked up at Marcus. “This is it,” she said, and she turned the envelope over, stared at the flap.

“It will be fine. You said the interview went well.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath. “Okay.” She ran her finger carefully beneath the seal and pulled out the letter. The text was brief and to the point. “Exonerated. No case to answer.” She looked up at Marcus, who was smiling.

“That’s wonderful. What we always knew.”

“Yeah. It’s just, I don’t even know what this means anymore. I don’t know what I want to do.”

“It means choice. It means you have full control of your life back, and from now on whatever decision you make is yours alone, whether that means going back to work or something else.”

“You have a say as well. We are living together now after all.”

“I’ll support you whatever decision you make.” He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. “I know you’ll do the right thing for you.”

Abby laid her head in his chest, her arms around his waist. The letter from the ABA slipped from her grasp and fluttered to the floor. “I think I’m going to put my townhouse on the market,” she said quietly.

“Are you sure?” Marcus tried to pull away so he could look at her but Abby held onto him, not wanting to leave the comfort of his arms yet.

“It holds bad memories. The people who’ve been there. Here it’s just been me and you, all the wonderful things we’ve done together, the happy times we’ve had.”

“I understand that,” Marcus murmured into her hair. “This is our home, for as long as we want it.”

“Thank you.” Abby kissed him, then turned to unpack the groceries. Marcus picked up the letter from the floor and put it on the counter.

“What are you making?” he said.

“Lasagne.”

“Lovely. I’ll leave you to it if that’s okay. I’ve got some work to finish. Will you run your eyes over it for me later?”

“Of course.”

Marcus leaned in and kissed her then returned to the sofa and the coffee table that was littered with files. Abby watched him for a moment while he settled back in the corner, glasses on, his long legs stretched out, and picked up his legal pad. She was fairly sure he didn’t need her to check anything; it was his way of keeping her involved in the law, trying to tempt her back perhaps, without putting pressure on her. For the first month after the incident as she referred to it, her time had been largely taken up with interviews and dealing with the aftermath. Marcus had worked in between, because his firm couldn’t manage without him, but Abby had nothing except her Legal Aid cases which had already been handed off to someone else.

She’d considered asking Niylah for a new case, but the thought of going into a courtroom, of facing a judge, of being questioned and badgered by the opposing counsel, brought her out in hot sweats, made her weep uncontrollably at random times, and disturbed her sleep. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder said her therapist. Marcus didn’t seem to be affected, not that he would go and see a therapist, but for Abby the events of that day were bound intricately with the law and her father and her whole career, and it wasn’t easy to pick up where she’d left off before this all started. She wasn’t the same person, and her life had changed beyond all recognition, for good and bad.

\---

Kane was stacking the dishwasher after dinner when the entry buzzer sounded. He checked his watch; it was nine o’clock. Who could be calling at this hour?

“I’ll get it,” he said as Abby started to extricate herself from a pile of his paperwork he’d asked her to check.

“Yes?” he said, pressing the intercom.

“It’s Detective Murphy,” came the familiar voice, his face looming large and pale on the video screen.

“What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you. I have news.”

Kane pressed the buzzer then turned to Abby who was sitting ramrod straight, her shoulders tense.

“What does he want?” she said.

“I don’t know.”

Abby frowned. Kane opened the door, waited for the elevator. Murphy exited a moment later, dressed in a suit beneath his winter coat, so he must still be working.

“Detective,” he said, holding the door open for Murphy to pass.

“Evening, Counselor.” He walked into the room and Kane took his coat. “Counselor Griffin,” said Murphy to Abby.

“What can we do for you, Detective Murphy?” said Abby, her voice sounding tight to Kane.

“I have some news. A lot has happened today.”

Kane gestured to the sofa then took a seat next to Abby. “Good news, I hope?” he said, wishing that saying it would make it true, not that wishful thinking ever did any good.

“I’d say so, yes. Any chance of a drink? I’m dying of thirst.”

“Are you keeping us in suspense on purpose?” said Abby with a frustrated sigh.

“No, but trust me, you’ll want a drink when you hear this.”

“I’ll get it,” said Abby, and she disappeared into the kitchen.

“This better be good, Murphy,” whispered Kane. “I don’t want Abby’s hopes raised unnecessarily.”

Murphy grinned. “Trust me. It’s good.”

Abby returned with a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass before sitting back on the sofa. “Go on, then. Tell us.”

“This hasn’t been confirmed yet, but I know from reliable sources that it’s true.” Murphy paused, and Kane narrowed his eyes at him.

“This isn’t the time for games, Murphy.”

“Earlier today, my partner, Detective Ryan, was at Sing Sing on another matter when there was a huge commotion. Prison guards running around, the Governor rushing past. Everything went into lockdown, and Ryan was shut up in a meeting room. When one of the guards finally came to let him out he asked him what had happened. He was told that Luca Romano had been killed in his cell by another inmate.” He sat back after he delivered this bombshell, took a sip of his wine and looked at Kane and Abby with satisfaction.

“Romano’s dead?” said Abby, her incredulous voice echoing Kane’s own sentiments.

“Who killed him?” said Kane, although he had a feeling he knew what the answer was going to be.

“Emerson,” said Abby and Murphy at the same time.

“That’s right,” said Murphy. “The guy you put away; the case that started all of this.”

“Oh, my God!” Abby looked at Kane, her face pale and shocked.

Kane took her hand. “Unbelievable!”

“Do we know why or how it happened?” said Abby.

“We don’t even know this officially. I’ve tried to find out from sources at the prison, but no one is answering calls. They’ve obviously shut down completely.”

“I can’t believe it.” Tears formed in Abby’s eyes as she looked at Kane.

“It’s over,” he said, kissing her hand.

“Yeah,” she said, but she didn’t look convinced, or happy.

“You’d better believe it,” said Murphy. “We won! Have a drink.” He held his glass towards them. “To justice!”

Kane and Abby clicked their glasses against his and both took a sip.

“Pike will be relieved to hear this. That’s one of his enemies down. One to go.”

“How is he?” said Kane.

“They’ve moved him to Atlanta. If his plea bargain goes through he’ll do his ten years there probably, although the mob has a long reach, so I doubt he’ll feel safe.

“I don’t think he’ll have to worry. With Romano dead and Wallace isolated there’s no one to lead the mob. The Commissioner is gone along with half the New York and Boston police force and justice system. They’re all in prison awaiting trial,” said Kane. “It’s over.”

“Until the next one comes along,” sniffed Murphy.

“I don’t know if that will happen. We have a chance to start over, make something better.”

Murphy wrinkled his nose sceptically. “I wouldn’t have figured you for an optimist, Kane. Abby must be rubbing off on you.”

“I’ve always believed in the rule of law, seen the potential in the system, but it was broken before, hampered by self-serving individuals like the Commissioner and Pike. This is our opportunity to change.” He felt Abby grip his hand tighter and turned to look at her. She was smiling softly.

“There’s always hope,” she said.

“There is.” Kane stroked her face with his other hand, leant towards her and kissed her.

Murphy coughed. “Erm, that’s my cue to leave, I think.”

“Sorry,” said Kane, who had forgotten momentarily the man was still there.

“No, it’s fine. I gotta go anyway; work to do.”

Kane stood, held out his hand to Murphy. “Thank you for telling us, and for all your help.”

Murphy seemed surprised at the gesture, but took Kane’s hand, shook it firmly. Abby stood next to Kane.

“Yes, thank you, John. We couldn’t have done it without you.” She didn’t offer her hand, but she smiled warmly at him.

“I’m pretty sure you two would have found a way with or without me, but I appreciate the thanks, and I’m, erm, I’m sorry about how I treated you. I was doing my job, but I could have – should have – shown you the respect you deserved. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” said Abby quietly.

“I’ll show you out,” said Kane.

When he returned to the living room Abby was standing at the window, sipping her wine. Kane picked his up from the table, went to join her. He slipped his arm around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder. They looked down at the street below, the bright lights and the cars and the people of the city who were always on the move, never seeming to stop or pause even for a moment. Kane used to be one of them - single-minded, always busy, no time or patience for the things that truly mattered in life. He kissed Abby’s head. That was all different now.

“I still can’t believe Romano’s gone,” she said.

“I know. I guess I wondered if it might happen, something like this anyway, but not so soon, and it’s still a shock.”

“Do you think Dante had anything to do with it?” Abby said, looking up at him.

“I don’t know. Emerson was Romano’s man, wasn’t he, but maybe he worked for them both. We might never know unless he talks.”

“While Dante’s still alive, he’ll always be a threat.”

Abby voiced a concern Kane had harboured since he first realised Wallace was behind everything. He’d tried to downplay it so that she wouldn’t worry too much, but she was intelligent and insightful, and she knew as well as he did that her ex stepfather posed a problem even with his empire having crumbled around him. For the hundredth time, Kane wished he’d let the man die on the floor of the house in Boston. He’d wanted to, but Abby had looked at him and he’d known it was wrong, that it wasn’t what she wanted. Still, it would have made their lives easier in the long term.

“I don’t think he’s a threat to us. He never wanted to kill you and I don’t think that’s changed.” Kane wasn’t just saying this to appease her; he did believe it, most of the time.

“I’ve ruined his life, everything he built. Doesn’t that give him more of a motive?”

“He’s responsible for everything that’s happened and he knows it. He turned on Romano, didn’t he? He hasn’t said anything to you, done anything to us. He always wanted you and your mom and for some reason I think he’s still loyal to that, still loyal to you and her.”

“I hate him!” said Abby with a sob. “I should have let him die.”

Kane brought her into him so he could hug her. “You could never do that, and you know it. We did the right thing, and we won. We won, Abby! It’s time to get on with the rest of our lives.”

“Yes. You’re right. I know you are.” Her tears dampened his neck and his t-shirt, and he held her until they’d stopped falling and she pulled away and looked up at him with her big damp eyes that stirred something in his very soul, made him want to keep her and protect her forever, even though she was more than capable of looking after herself.

“I think we should do something fun,” he said. “We both need it, and we deserve it.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Kane laughed as an idea came to him. Oh, this would be perfect! “You’ll see,” he said.

“Are you not going to tell me?” said Abby, feigning outrage.

“No. It will be a surprise. I’ll have to organise a few things, so let’s do it Wednesday. I’ll take the day off.”

“Oh, now I’m really intrigued.”

“Good! It will be something to look forward to.”

They stood in silence, staring out of the window, drinking their wine.

“I’m really grateful to you,” said Abby after a while. “When I first saw you in The Tombs my heart sank. I’d thought my day couldn’t get any worse and then you turned up.” She laughed softly, looked shyly at him.

“I don’t blame you; I’d been an ass to you.”

“Yeah. You gave everything to me, though; I mean literally everything, even before we got together. You worked so hard and you opened up your life to me, your home. You saved me. Thank you.”

Tears welled in Kane’s eyes at the unexpectedness of her words. He wiped them away before they could drip down his face. “It was the strangest thing. Even from that first moment, when we were out in the street, I knew you were going to turn my world upside down. I didn’t imagine what we have now, could never have imagined this, but I knew. You’re the one who’s saved me. You’ve changed my life. You’ve changed me.”

“What we have is the only good thing to come out of this.”

“It is. I love you. I’ll do anything for you. Anything.”

Abby took his glass and placed it on the side table along with hers. “You’d better take me to bed, then, so I can show you how much I love you, how grateful I am.”

“I like the sound of that,” murmured Kane as he took her hand and led her to their bedroom.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane takes Abby on a mystery day out, but does he have an ulterior motive?

“Are you ready for your big day out?” Marcus entered the living room, dressed in black jeans and a dark green sweater, his black brogues so highly polished Abby figured she’d be able to put make up on while looking in them. His hair was freshly trimmed and groomed, and when he lifted his hands to smooth down his sweater, she saw he was wearing his father’s ring. He was ridiculously handsome; always had been, but now he smiled at her and his eyes were warm and his grin large. He was enjoying this, had refused to tell her anything about where they were going or what they were doing other than to dress warmly.

“I hope so. Am I dressed appropriately do you think?” Abby had chosen black skinny jeans which were tucked into her brown leather boots and a light grey sweater. She’d bought a new dark grey Italian wool overcoat which she was starting to overheat in standing in their warm apartment. She hoped they weren’t going to be indoors too much. Perhaps she should have layered up more, chosen a lighter jacket.

“Classically beautiful,” replied Marcus, and he crossed towards her, planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “Gorgeous.”

“I’m not overdressed or underdressed?”

“No, you’re perfect.” He headed towards the coat rack, shrugged into his black overcoat. “You might need your scarf, though.” He handed her the scarf Vera had knitted her, wrapped a dark blue one around his own neck. “Shall we go?”

He held out his arm and Abby took it. They left the apartment and Marcus called the elevator.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll find out very soon.” He grinned at her again.

Outside, their car service was waiting and Marcus held the door open for Abby. She half expected him to say, “My lady,” but he didn’t. He settled in next to her and they set off up Sixth Avenue, crawling through the morning traffic, past the Arkadia Jazz Club, past West 12th Street and her soon-to-be-listed townhouse. They stopped outside Central Park and realisation dawned on Abby as Marcus jumped out and came around to her side of the car to open the door.

“Oh, no!” she said with a half laugh.

“Oh, yes,” said Marcus as he took her hand.

“You didn’t?”

His eyes twinkled with amusement in reply, and he led her towards a waiting horse and carriage.

“Your carriage awaits,” he said, gesturing towards the black open carriage with its indigo lining.

Abby pulled herself inside. “You know I was only joking when I agreed I wanted this, right?”

“I think it’s a secret desire of yours deep down.” Marcus sat next to her, and the carriage driver handed them a blanket the same deep indigo as the lining of the vehicle. Marcus covered their laps with it, tucked it in around them.

Abby wanted to laugh and sink as far into the seat as possible at the same time. “I think it’s you who wants this. You’re the one who brought it up in the first place, kept mentioning it.”

The carriage started moving and Marcus put his arm around Abby. “No comment,” he said, pulling her close to him so he could kiss her hair.

Abby snaked her hand beneath the blanket, rested it on his thigh. Marcus did the same, his fingers entwining with hers. The carriage trundled through the park. It was barely spring, but some of the cherry trees were blossoming in the warmer weather, frosted pink like cotton candy framed beneath the blue sky. Abby fancied she could smell them - there was a sweetness in the air - or maybe it was the effect of being away from the ever-present car fumes.

“I’ve never really spent time in Central Park,” said Marcus. “Most of my city life has been in lower Manhattan. In fact, when I think about it, I’ve probably spent all my time within a few blocks’ radius of the office and the courts. Made life easier.”

“I picked Greenwich Village so I’d be forced to leave the work environment. I didn’t want work to become my whole life.”

“How did that work out for you?” said Marcus with a laugh.

“The law takes over your life no matter what.”

“If you let it.”

“There are other things in life, I suppose.”

Marcus stroked her cheek tenderly. “There are lots of pathways open to you, to both of us.”

“You don’t want to leave the law, though, do you? Leave your firm?”

“No, but I’m open to change, to ideas.” He laughed. “I never thought I’d say that.”

Abby’s heart swelled with love for him. He was willing to do anything for her, even if it meant changing his own life, his career. It was sweet, but the trouble was she didn’t know what she wanted. She only knew that the thought of going back to the DA’s office, of going back into that world, that system, was terrifying. Marcus had said the other day that they could change things, make it better, but she didn’t know if she had the energy or the will to try and do that.

Suddenly there was a loud noise and an awful smell wafted through the air. She turned to look at Marcus who was wrinkling his nose.

“What’s that smell?” Abby said.

“Sorry,” said the carriage driver, looking back at them. “The horse has a stomach upset today.”

Abby was alarmed to hear that, more for the horse than for her and Marcus. “Should he be working?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. He eats too much that’s all, doesn’t know when to stop.”

As he said those words the horse let out another loud fart and Abby could hear the splat of something unmentionable hitting the path.

“This is very romantic, Marcus. Very.”

Marcus didn’t answer because he was too busy laughing. “Oh, God,” he said eventually. “Trust us to get a flatulent horse.”

“Gawd,” said Abby, and she started to laugh as well.

They sat in the carriage, their shoulders heaving as the horse trotted on without a care, a series of farts emanating from him.

“This isn’t quite how I pictured this part of the day,” said Marcus, when he’d calmed down.

“It’s perfect. It’s good to laugh.”

“I’m glad you have that attitude.”

“I need a sense of humour living with you,” Abby retorted.

Marcus feigned outrage. “I’m the perfect housemate! I even pick up my underwear.”

“That’s true; you’ve learned since that first day.”

“I was only trying to hide them from you, but it backfired.”

“It was funny though. First time I saw your playful side.”

“Now you know playful is my default. It’s the serious lawyer that’s on the side.” He moved to grab her nose like he always did, but Abby had grown wise to this tactic over the months and managed to defend herself. They fought playfully, making the carriage shake. The driver half-turned.

“What are you two doing back there?” he said.

“I’m seducing her,” said Marcus. “Don’t look.”

“Don’t worry, I’m defending my honour,” said Abby, and the driver laughed and shook his head, turning back to the horse.

“You’re an idiot,” said Abby to Marcus.

“I know,” he grinned.

“I do love you, though.”

“I do love you too.”

They kissed as the carriage rolled through the park, oblivious to the scenery and the people who watched them go past.

\---

Kane was pleased with how the carriage ride had gone. It wasn’t his idea of romance, or Abby’s, but he’d thought about doing it almost since he’d first mentioned it. He’d figured it would be fun, and so it had turned out to be, farting horse included. He hadn’t expected it to be romantic, not in the way the tourists who stopped to do elaborate proposals probably thought it was, but it had been, in a strange way. Then, any time he was with Abby made him feel that way. They’d asked him if he wanted the proposal package when he’d booked it, and he’d declined. This wasn’t the way he wanted to do it.

He felt in the pocket of his coat where the ring he’d bought her lay tucked within its box. He wasn’t sure now whether today was the right day. The mood didn’t feel right yet. Abby was still struggling with her losses and her sense of identity. Everything she’d loved, all the things that she thought made her who she was were tied up with the law, and she felt like it had failed her. She was opening up more and more to him, which was good, and made him feel useful, because he’d felt helpless at times over the last month, not sure what to say, how to comfort her in a meaningful way, because all he had was the law. It was a weapon he’d wielded with great success in the past, but it was useless now.

She’d wanted him to propose when she was happy, and he wasn’t sure she was.

“What’s next?” Abby said, waking him from his reverie. “Are we working our way through cheesy touristy things?”

“We are. Next stop is the Museum of the City of New York.”

She linked her arm through his and they strolled through the park towards the museum.

“Are you mentioned in the museum?” she said, turning innocent eyes on him.

“Are you calling me old?”

“No. It was just with you being New York’s most eligible lawyer before you met me, I thought you might get a mention.”

“Ha! Actually, they have an exhibition on at the moment about the history of Brooklyn. I thought it might give you valuable insight into me.”

“Oh, I see. So, this IS all about you.”

“If you put it like that.” They walked up the steps to the front door and Kane pushed it open. “Do you have something in particular you’d like to do?”

“No, no. I honestly can’t wait to see what else you’ve got lined up.”

What else meant firstly an expensive and delightful meal at Marea, a Michelin starred southern Italian restaurant Kane had been wanting to visit for a while but had never found the time. He had short rib and Abby had striped bass and the restaurant was in no hurry to throw them out, so they lingered over a bottle of equally expensive red wine.

“Miller has been pushing me to bring you to dinner. I’ve resisted so far, but I don’t think I can hold out much longer. He’s relentless.”

“I’d love to go to dinner with him and his wife. What’s putting you off?”

Kane shrugged. “I don’t know. That whole dinner conversation thing. Couples.”

Abby smiled, her brown eyes seeing right through him. “You must have been out with him before. What about all those charity things you used to go to with him and Sinclair. Didn’t they have their wives with them?”

“Yes, but I was always single. I didn’t have to do that chit chat.”

“Well you can always leave me gossiping with the wives so you can discuss manly things with the men,” she said in an amused voice.

“That’s not what I meant.” Although it was, really. Never having a woman on his arm, or anyone permanent at least, had meant he could zone out of the more mundane conversations, or go looking for someone to hook up with, if it had been in the earlier years of their firm.

“I do understand what you mean, you know. We’re both new to this. I haven’t done couples stuff since I was in my early twenties and it was easy back then because we’d all known each other for years. We just have to navigate through this new phase of our lives. It will do us good to spend time with other people.”

“Yes,” sighed Kane. “Speaking of other people, my mom is excited about our visit. I got a phone call and an email off her yesterday.”

“I did too. She wanted my dress size so heaven knows what she’s knitting me this time.”

“I hope for your sake it’s not as hideous as the sweater she knitted me when I was sixteen. Huge stripy thing. The memory makes me shudder. It’s no wonder I got called Rainbow at college.”

“I hope there is photographic evidence of this in her collection.”

“There’s bound to be. She made me wear it every winter.”

“I love your mom so much.” Abby finished her drink and stared into the empty glass. “Mine never made anything for me, not even a meal. I think the gifts I got from her were bought by one of her assistants.”

“You know my opinion on your mom even before everything else. Has she tried to get in touch?”

“No. I don’t know if I could take her call even if she did try.”

To say Kane wasn’t a fan of Elizabeth Griffin-Wallace was an understatement, and if she were his mom he would have cut off contact with her years ago. Abby wasn’t like him, though. She was kind and warm-hearted and he didn’t want her to do anything that she would regret later in life. Her mom was seventy and had suffered a severe shock. Anything could happen to her.

“Maybe she’s waiting for you to reach out to her,” he proffered tentatively.

“She’ll have a long wait.” Abby looked up at him sheepishly.

“Don’t leave it too long. I think you need each other.” He drained his own glass, set it on the table and fixed Abby with a stare.

She stared back, then a half-grimace, half-smile appeared. “When did you get to be so wise?”

“Around the time I met you.”

She smiled more broadly then. “We’ll see,” she said, two words which when Kane said them meant he had no intention of doing whatever it was, but it usually meant Abby would ponder it and eventually make an informed decision. “What’s next on the agenda? I hope it doesn’t involve a lot of walking. My tummy’s full.” She sat back in the chair, rubbing her belly.

Kane hesitated. The next thing he had planned might not work out the way he wanted, given Abby’s fluctuating mood, but this represented the culmination of a long search, and he was desperate for her to see it.

“I wanted to show you something, if you don’t mind a detour,” he said, decision made.

“As I don’t know what’s in store for me, it can hardly be called a detour.”

“True. It’s a fifteen-minute drive, and then we’ll have to come back here for the final things of the day.”

“I’m sure I can survive a detour. Lead on.”

They drove south in the direction they’d come, but further west, to a place just a block away from the Hudson River in the West Village. It wasn’t a part of New York Kane was familiar with, but he’d done extensive research, and this was the most suitable place he could find.

They exited the car outside a four-story brownstone, not dissimilar to Abby’s but much wider.

“What is this?” said Abby, looking up at the building.

“Just somewhere I’d like you to see.”

Kane opened the door with the key the realtor had given him and led Abby inside. His stomach was churning, which was silly, because this wasn’t something he had committed to, just an idea he’d had.

“Wow, it’s beautiful!”

“Isn’t it? Come on, there’s something in particular I wanted to show you.” He took her hand and led her through the entrance way and into the living room. It was light and airy with a white polished floor and white walls, but what gave it the light and space were the huge windows at the rear of the room that led onto a garden. He opened the French doors, stepped outside. “What do you think?”

“Oh, my God!” said Abby, stepping into the courtyard with its outdoor seating and barbecue.

“There’s a proper garden bit at the bottom, grass and shrubs and stuff.” Kane walked across the yard towards the rear where the trees from neighbouring gardens hung budding leaves over the flower beds.

“Why are you showing me this? You haven’t...you haven’t bought it have you?” Abby’s faced registered something that he wasn’t sure was surprise or fear.

“No, I haven’t bought it. I just wanted you to see it. I know that you miss your outside space, and my apartment doesn’t have that, or a lot of things you might want, like privacy.”

“Marcus.” She took his hand, led him to the sofa where they sat facing each other. “That’s so thoughtful of you. So...wow I don’t know what to say.”

“We could have something like this, if you wanted it.”

“You would sell your apartment, move out of Lower Manhattan?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes, I would if it’s what you wanted.”

She looked across the garden, scanning the beds and the lawn and the courtyard, then up at the building. “It’s a family home,” she said quietly.

“We’re a family,” he said, his stomach tying in knots again.

“Yes.”

He wondered if she would comment further, mention having children, whether he should, whether it was the right time. “There’s plenty of room for my baby grand piano,” he said, because she wasn’t saying anything and now he felt awkward and exposed, and also guilty because he could see now that this was putting pressure on her at a time when she didn’t need it. It was simply that he’d found it at last, the perfect place, and he hadn’t been able to keep it to himself.

“There is. Lots of room! You could probably fit a full-sized grand one in here.” She smiled more brightly. “I really love it. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Yeah?” said Kane, hope springing again.

“Yes, and I love so much that you thought about this and found it. That really is...you really are a wonderful man.” She leaned in and kissed him, and they forgot where they were, and made out on someone else’s sofa, in someone else’s house, where a life was lived that Kane felt might at last be in his grasp.

\---

Abby sat in the car as they made their way back to midtown. She hadn’t anticipated any of the things Marcus had arranged for her so far, with the exception of a meal in a good restaurant, but showing her that house had come completely out of the blue. He hadn’t mentioned he was looking for somewhere else to live, or even that he wanted to. She wasn’t at all sure that he really wanted to move all the way out here, so far away from his work and the places he enjoyed frequenting, and the thought that he was willing to do it was overwhelming.

She wondered now if this day had another reason behind it, not just something to take their minds off everything that had happened lately. Marcus seemed distracted at times, as though he wasn’t in the moment, but always thinking ahead. Ah. Oh, God! Was he going to propose? Was that what this day was about? Abby’s heart leapt into her throat. Suddenly it all made sense. She’d told him to ask her again when it was all over, and now it was. He was going to do it; he was just looking for the right time.

She glanced at him; he was staring out of the window, watching the world go by. What was he thinking? Was he psyching himself up for it, or was he going over what they’d said in the garden? Had she said what he’d hoped to hear? Perhaps not, because she’d been surprised, and wasn’t prepared. It was like when he’d told her he loved her all over again. She wished she’d reacted differently then too. Well, she was prepared now. When he asked her; she’d be ready.

The car pulled up on a busy street near Times Square and Marcus got out and opened the door for Abby. She looked around, but it was a nondescript street with no famous landmarks or anything obviously touristy.

“Where are we?” she said.

“Come this way.” He put his hand in the small of her back and propelled her towards the Embassy Suites hotel.

“Oh, yes?” said Abby, wondering what exactly he had in mind.

Marcus grinned. “You have a one-track mind.”

“I do not!”

“What were you thinking then?”

They entered a lobby but didn’t go to the registration desk; instead they headed for the elevator.

“Ah, erm.”

“You have no defence,” he said as the door opened and they went inside.

“Guilty as charged.”

They rode the elevator to the top floor and a young man was waiting for them when the door opened. Marcus shook his hand.

“Thank you for arranging this, Daryl; I really appreciate it.”

“One good turn deserves another; we’re even after this, though.”

“Agreed.”

The man showed them through to a small lobby where there was a concession stand selling candy and soda like in a movie theatre.

“Shall we get a bucket of popcorn?” said Marcus.

“What? Why?”

“Because we’re going to watch a movie.” He nodded at Daryl. “A large bucket, please.”

“Coming up.”

Marcus clutched his bucket in one arm and held Abby’s hand with the other. They walked through a door and cool air hit Abby’s face. They were in a movie theatre, but it was outdoors, and dozens of floors above New York. The view was incredible.

“Oh, wow!” exclaimed Abby as she looked around. She could see most of midtown from here.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Marcus put his arm around her as they looked out across the New York skyline.

“Fantastic.” Abby turned around and Marcus swivelled with her. Ahead was a huge screen and row upon row of red velvet covered seats. “I never knew this existed.”

“No? I didn’t know myself until a couple of years ago. I’ve only been a couple of times.”

All the seats were empty and no one else seemed to be entering the auditorium. “Is there a movie playing? Where is everyone?”

“There is a movie playing, but it’s just for us. I pulled in a favour from the owner. Let’s get our seats.” Marcus led the way down the centre aisle and stopped about halfway. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect,” said Abby, who was still confused about what exactly was going on. “Are you saying no one else is coming?” she said as she settled into a seat next to Marcus.

“The theatre isn’t officially open at the moment. Like I said, the owner’s doing me a favour. It’s best you don’t know what I did for him.” He grinned at her, making Abby smile. He held the bucket of popcorn towards her and Abby took a handful.

“So he’s done this for us? That’s amazing. What movie are we seeing?”

“You’ll see.”

Marcus put his arm around Abby and pulled her close. There was a chill in the air, but Abby was warm enough in her woollen coat, and with Marcus holding her. She picked another handful of popcorn out of the bucket he was balancing between them and crunched on them.

“This is so cool,” she said.

“Yeah.” He smiled lovingly down at her, and before she’d even taken a breath, they were swapping buttery popcorn kisses.

The movie’s opening credits were rolling by the time they came up for air. Abby looked up, then looked at Marcus.

“Ah!” she said.

“You like?”

“Yeah.” She rested her head on his shoulder, watched as Humphrey Bogart met Lauren Bacall for the first time in The Big Sleep. “Is that really how you see me?”

“Sometimes. Your voice, your cheekbones, your attitude.”

Abby laughed. “I’m definitely taking that as a compliment.”

“You should. Lauren Bacall is one sexy lady.” Marcus put his hand beneath Abby’s coat, his fingers snaking beneath her sweater, coming to rest on the bare skin of her belly.

“Are we making out at the movies like teenagers?” whispered Abby.

“I think we have to.” His hand moved higher, stroked the wire of her bra.

“Like nineteen-fifties teenagers, though. First base only.”

Marcus made a harrumphing noise. “Second base at least. There’s no one to see.”

“Okay, then,” she said, giving in to his insistent fingers.

Afterwards, they stood on West Thirty-Seventh Street. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, the lights of the city that never slept slowly flickering on.

“There’s only one place left to go,” said Marcus.

“I have a feeling I know where that is.”

“It is iconic.”

“It is.”

“Shall we?”

“Yes. Let’s.” She took his arm and they walked a couple of streets south towards what was arguably the most famous building in New York, certainly if you were a fan of the city’s history and old movies, like Marcus was.

The building was busy even though it was barely spring and not peak tourist season. They had express passes and were ushered past barriered lines and into elevators. The one to the observation deck had a movie of the construction of the building playing on the ceiling.

“Oh, that’s freaky!” said Abby as the sky seemed to rush towards them. Marcus had his arm around her waist and squeezed her.

“I believe it’s a new thing.”

“Have you ever been here before?”

“No. You don’t, do you, when you’re from the city. No one does the touristy stuff.”

“Except us today.”

“Yeah. It’s been interesting seeing the city from a different perspective.”

“I came up here when I first moved down from Boston, had a few weekends where I took in the sights. Then I got too busy. The only time I came to midtown was if mom came to visit and we’d go to the ballet at the Lincoln Centre.”

The elevator let them out on the eighty-sixth floor. “You still owe me a dance,” said Marcus as they walked up the steps to the historic observation deck.

“In my tutu?”

He stopped, causing people behind to bump into them. “Sorry,” he said, and he took Abby’s arm and led her to one of the windows where the city was laid out below. He turned and looked hopefully at her. “You have a tutu?”

Abby chuckled. He was such a typical guy sometimes. “Not here in New York I’m afraid. I have the leotard, though; I use it for exercising.”

“Oh wow! Well, I think I need to see this.”

“If you’re a good boy,” she said, and then she whispered into his ear, “or a bad one.”

“God,” he said, drawing out the word. He put his arms around her, kissed her.

They were disturbed by somebody coughing, probably directed at them judging by the look on the man’s face. It’s only a kiss, Abby wanted to say to him, but then it was never only a kiss with her and Marcus, and god knows what they looked like when they were doing it; she was oblivious to the rest of the world when she was in his arms.

“There’s a new observatory higher up,” said Marcus as they headed outside, “but I thought this one was better for us.”

“It’s the one from all our favourite movies.”

“Yeah.”

Abby stood at the rails and looked south over the city. Marcus stood behind her, his arms around her, keeping her warm. “There’s the Brooklyn Bridge,” she said, pointing out the obvious.

“You have to go a long way south of there to find Bensonhurst, right out to the water virtually.”

“Are you going to take me there one day, to see where you grew up?”

“If you want. I know Marie would love to meet you. There’s Frank, though.”

“I really want to meet him. He sounds a hoot.”

“What, even after everything he did?”

Abby turned in Marcus’s arms. “That was a long time ago, and he was a pawn really, they all were. He didn’t have a choice.”

“He did have a choice; he could have said no, or he could have moved away like my mom and dad did.”

“Your parents had better prospects than him, didn’t they? You should cut him some slack.”

Marcus shrugged, then nodded. Abby was aware of the irony of her telling him to forgive his uncle for his role in the Luca Romano business when she was unwilling to do the same for her mom. Her mom’s offences were a lot more serious, though. She’d broken Abby’s heart, and that wasn’t going to heal quickly.

The light was fading and the sun starting to set. They walked around to the west so they could watch as it dipped. Marcus was quiet, and Abby’s heart started to pound as the orange glow settled over the buildings, and their bright lights pricked the darkness. He had one arm around her and the other was in his pocket, turning something over and over. Was this the moment he was going to propose? She glanced around. There were a lot of people. Kane the lawyer would enjoy a public spectacle, but she doubted the Marcus she’d come to love would. On the other hand, it was an undeniably romantic setting, with the fading sun, the lights of the city, and the ghosts of so many iconic movie moments playing out around them. This would be a Marcus thing to do.

She waited, her limbs warming despite the cold. He stopped playing with the thing in his pocket and pulled his hand out. It was empty. He stood behind her again, wrapped her tightly in his arms. “The Empire State Building is the closest thing to heaven in this city,” he said.

That was a very un-Marcus thing to say, and it took Abby a moment to realise he was referencing the movie An Affair to Remember. “It was beauty that killed the beast,” she replied. She felt him shaking behind her as he laughed.

“Is that your idea of a romantic movie line? King Kong?”

“One of the greatest movies ever made.”

He squeezed her tighter, his breath tickling her head as he laughed. “God, I love you, Abby,” he said, kissing her cheek. “You’re just...you’re so perfect for me.”

She turned so she could face him, ran her cold hand down his cold cheek, before pressing a kiss to his lips. “I never thought I would say this, but you’re perfect for me too.” She waited to see if he would say anything else, start going down on one knee or get whatever it was out of his pocket, but he simply smiled at her, and then pulled her close to him. She laid her head against his chest, put her arms around his waist. He obviously didn’t think it was the right time.

“Thank you for today,” she said into his coat. “I’ve really enjoyed it.”

“Me too. Surprisingly.”

Abby turned her head so she could watch the final moments of the sun as it set on their New York adventure. The right time would come, and if it didn’t, she’d simply have to ask him.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane and Abby return to Ithaca. Questions are asked, and answers are given.

I've created a Spotify [PLAYLIST](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1N9Tny691KM2GJudfEIkqR?si=SMKZQN3wQ8GSKT855s4d_A) which includes music mentioned in the story and which inspired it. Feel free to listen if you wish, and enjoy.

\---

Kane got out of the passenger seat as they pulled up outside Green Acres farm. He stood with hands on hips looking up at the building. It was as dilapidated as ever, because he hadn’t had chance to organise any building work. That was one of his goals while they were up here on their Easter break.

“God, I really enjoyed that.” Abby stretched as she came around to his side of the Jeep. He’d added her to his insurance, and this was the first time she’d driven the car. Kane had been on tenterhooks the whole drive, as she was less cautious than he would have imagined, and trusting of the Jeep’s road holding capabilities. He’d offered to take over driving duties when they’d stopped at the lakeside diner, but she’d refused. Still, they were here in one piece; that was the main thing.

The door opened and Vera Kane stood on the veranda, a huge smile on her face.

“You’re here!” she said.

“We are!” Abby ran up the steps and flung herself into Vera’s arms. Kane watched as they hugged and was about to go and give his mom a kiss when he heard sobs and Vera was stroking Abby’s hair and whispering that it was all okay. His chest tightened and squeezed his heart. He’d known Abby needed something he didn’t seem able to give her, but hadn’t been able to figure out what it was because whenever she’d seemed down and he’d asked her if she was okay she’d said she was fine and that she loved him. Now he knew what it was. She’d needed the comfort of a mother, which she’d never really had. Vera’s constant fussing over him had driven him mad over the years, but he was glad she was of that nature now, because she could be a help to Abby over the next few days.

He busied himself getting their bags out of the Jeep, taking longer than he needed, and when he shut the rear hatch and looked up he saw they’d gone inside. Like at Christmas he was left to transport their luggage by himself. He shook his head and smiled as he lugged it all into the hallway. Abby and his mom were in the kitchen brewing coffee.

“The first thing I want to do is go and see Flora,” Abby was saying.

“Have a drink and a break first; you’ve driven a long way.” Kane took the cup of coffee proffered by Abby.

“He let you drive the Jeep?” said Vera, looking incredulously at Abby. “He never lets me near it. Sometimes I think he would prefer it if I didn’t ride in it at all.”

“That’s not true, mom,” said Kane.

“It was great,” said Abby. “Like being queen of the world.”

“That’s why Marcus likes it, so he can look down on other drivers.”

Abby laughed and clinked her mug against Vera’s.

“Outnumbered,” grumbled Kane.

“Maybe you should do something about that, then,” said Vera, looking from him to Abby and back again.

“Very subtle, mom. I’m going to put our bags upstairs. Won’t be long.”

When he returned to the kitchen, Abby had gone. “Flora?” he said to his mom.

“Yes.”

“She loves that pig.” He pulled out a chair, sat opposite his mom.

“Is she okay? She seemed like she needed that hug and cry earlier.”

“I’m looking after her,” he said defensively, because his mom made it sound as though he wasn’t providing those things for Abby.

“I know that, son.”

“And it doesn’t help you hinting about children. Don’t start talking weddings and honeymoons again.” He was harsher with Vera than he intended, still feeling wounded.

Vera ignored his tone, and his request not to discuss the subject. “You are going to marry her, though?”

“Yes. I’m going to ask her; I just haven’t found the right time.”

“There’s no right time, Marcus. Just do it.”

“I will. I have the ring.” He felt in his pocket where the box spent most of its time except when his pants went to the dry cleaners.

“Ooh, can I see it?”

“No. Not yet. When I’ve asked her.”

“You don’t have time to wait for children, you know.”

Kane rubbed his eyes in frustration and sighed. “I’m aware of that.”

“Do you want them?”

“Yes.”

“Does she?”

“I don’t know. Can we talk about something else?”

“I’m just saying. You need to find these things out, Marcus.”

“Why? It’s not going to make a difference. If she doesn’t want children I’m not going to leave her for someone who does. I have her; that’s all I want.”

Vera reached across the table and took his hand. Kane let her, and she stroked it. “I’m sorry. That’s... a good attitude. It’s just, it would be nice, a couple of children running around here. I never thought it would happen, or there’d be the possibility.”

“Neither did I for a long time. One thing at a time, yes?”

“Okay.”

\---

Abby stroked the rough hairs behind Flora’s ears. “I missed you,” she said to the pig, who grunted in reply. “A lot has happened since I last saw you. I don’t think you’d believe it if I told you.” She laughed joylessly.

The grass around the barn and Flora’s pen was thickening and becoming a brighter green. The last time she’d been here everywhere was covered in snow. The farm looked bigger now, dozens of fields separated by rustic fences, surrounded by woodland. It was rambling like the farmhouse. The birds were singing, trying to attract mates or scare away rivals. No matter what was happening in the human world, nature carried on, the seasons rolling in and out, the rituals played out to a rhythm that never wavered, except under the influence of man.

Flora grunted again, looked at Abby hopefully. She picked up an apple, gave it to the pig. “You don’t worry about things, do you, old girl? Your life is simple. I could do with that right now.”

Abby leaned on the fence and stared at the large oak tree that stood stag headed and proud in the centre of the next field. Last time she’d been here she hadn’t wanted to go home, and now she was back she felt the same. Marcus thought she’d be bored stuck up here, but it was probably him that would be. Abby thought she could make a life here, something simpler but still meaningful. She didn’t have any idea what that might look like, though, what she would do. Marcus would say she was running away from her problems in New York, and perhaps she was, but nothing made her feel like she did when she was in Ithaca. She felt free. She didn’t stay long with Flora, because it was colder up here than in the city and she was starting to shiver.

Back at the house she took off her boots and hung up her coat. She headed towards the kitchen; the door was open, and she could hear Marcus and Vera talking. She was about to enter when Marcus said something about not leaving her if she didn’t want children. Abby’s heart skipped several beats as she tried to work out what exactly his mom had asked him.

There was silence for a second, and then Vera’s voice. “I’m sorry. That’s... a good attitude. It’s just, it would be nice, a couple of children running around here. I never thought it would happen, or there’d be the possibility.”

“Neither did I for a long time. One thing at a time, yes?”

Marcus sounded different, wistful almost. Abby leant against the wall, took deep breaths because her pulse was racing. She knew he wanted children, of course she did; she’d just never heard him express it so literally. He’d always skirted around the issue, scared to lose her perhaps if he made his desire too obvious. She hadn’t really had much opportunity to think about it since he’d first hinted at New Year’s. She shouldn’t be surprised that he wanted a family; he was a different man to the one she’d thought she knew in the courtroom, but she still hadn’t fully reconciled this side of him, wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of a family more than the reality, or if she did.

It was clearly on his mind, though. They’d have to talk about it soon, make a decision one way or the other.

She stood straighter, took another deep breath, and walked into the kitchen. Marcus and Vera both looked up at her with warm smiles, making her heart swell.

“How was Flora?” said Marcus.

“She said she missed you.”

He grinned, patted the chair next to him. Abby took a seat.

“Are you hungry, Abby love?” said Vera, getting up and going over to the oven not waiting for an answer. She pulled out a tray of warm crostini and put them on the table.

“These look amazing, Vera.”

“Just an appetizer before dinner.”

“Mom’s making steak pizzaiola,” said Marcus, taking two of the crostini.

“Lovely. I’ll help you, Vera.”

“No, you won’t. You’ve done enough just driving up here.” Vera retook her seat and they sat around the large farmhouse table eating the crostini.

Abby listened as Marcus and his mom discussed the building works and who best to approach. She tried to imagine a similar scene in the future, a couple of kids running around, pestering Marcus, being indulged by Granny Vera. It was surprisingly easy to picture. Would Marcus be an indulgent father or strict? He had a good sense of fun and could be silly, so he might make a good dad. Or he might be like an extra child. She might end up looking after two or three other people.

He turned to look at her. “You’re quiet. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m happy to be here, that’s all, just enjoying the moment.”

“Good.” He leaned towards her and kissed her, then turned back to his mom to continue the conversation. Abby tuned in, tried to focus on the present, and not some imagined future and all its uncertainties and possibilities.

When they went to bed that night, her things were of course in Marcus’s old room. On her return from the bathroom she paused at the door to the room she’d stayed in. It was strange how much it felt like hers even though she’d only stayed here a few nights. The room was cold and empty without the fire roaring and the bright yellow quilt.

“Hey,” said Marcus from behind, and he slid his arms around her waist, his hands coming to rest on her belly. He pressed a kiss to her neck. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just looking at my old room.”

“Hmm. I was thinking this would make a great bathroom for us for when we come and stay. You could have your shower.”

“I guess.”

“What, you don’t want your shower, or you don’t want to come and stay?”

“No, course not. I’d love both of those.”

“I’ll let you pick out the design, everything. You can make it whatever you want, the bedroom as well.”

Abby put her hands on top of his where they were caressing her belly. Change, that was the problem. Marcus wanted to transform the farmhouse and it needed it, there was no denying it, but she’d fallen in love with it as it was, and even though she’d asked him for a shower, so much had happened since then. She needed something steady, something reliable, and the farmhouse was it, and now even that was going to change.

“I know this place means a lot to you,” he said, perceptive as ever. The trouble with dating a lawyer as good as Marcus was that he was adept at reading people, seeing what they were hiding. There was no escaping him.

“It does. The thought of change right now, it...”

“I know.” He kissed her head. “It was just an idea. We won’t do anything yet, just the structural work.”

Abby turned in his arms. “It’s a great idea. Give me some time to get used to it.”

“Of course.”

He made love to her that night as though she was a delicate thing, a fragile flower that would be crushed if he handled her improperly or was too rough. She could have taken over, or said something, but it had been nice, sweet in its own way. She’d made him treat her this way, she supposed, with her mood swings and the air of melancholy that sometimes just came over her. Her therapist said to let it wash, not to hide the feelings or push them away, but she was growing tired of them.

She lay in his arms while he slept, and looked around the room as the firelight faded. There was a vase of spring violets on the windowsill, fresh and full of promise. She had more than she’d ever wanted in this relationship, and her future was in her own hands. It was time to move forward, let the past lie.

\---

Kane woke to a ticklish sensation on his belly. He opened his eyes to see what it was and found Abby propped up on her side looking at him. It was her fingers that were causing the sensation as they ran over his stomach. When she saw he was awake her fingers moved lower until she found his cock, which was rapidly coming to life.

“Morning!” she said brightly.

“Morning,” replied Kane more cautiously, as her mood was markedly different to when he’d fallen asleep last night. “What’s got into you?”

“You’re going to get into me, hopefully.” She straddled his thighs, played with his cock while she grinned at him.

“I’m always happy to do that.”

“I know you are.” She leaned forward, kissed him with lips that still tasted of the wine and herbs they’d consumed the night before. She stroked his face with one hand, his cock gripped firmly in the other, and then when she sat back, he was positioned so that she could slide down his length which she did with a long, heavy sigh.

“Aah,” said Kane as he was buried inside her.

“Mmm.”

She rode him slowly and expertly, gripping him on every stroke until he had to make a distinct effort not to cry out so they wouldn’t be overheard.

“That was amazing!” he said when they lay panting afterwards.

“Yup.”

She was smiling when he looked at her, but he was concerned that this was another temporary high point on the rollercoaster her emotions had become.

“Are you okay?” he said, expecting another ‘I’m fine’ in return.

“I want to move forward,” she said, surprising him.

“Alright.” He turned on his side so he could see her properly and she did the same.

“I’m tired of feeling the way I do.”

“You don’t have to feel anything other than what you feel. There’s no time limit.”

“I know, but I want to feel happy, because I’ve got a lot to be happy about.”

“Don’t force it.”

She ran her thumb over his lips. “I don’t have to force it. It’s there; it’s always been there, I just let the sadness overwhelm it and I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to redress the balance. I need to.”

“I want you to be happy, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide your feelings. You will talk to me, won’t you, if you need to? Or your therapist, or my mom. Whoever.”

“I am happy. Ridiculously so.” She kissed him. “But don’t worry, I know it’s not going to go away just because I want it to, but I can make an effort to be positive, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“I’m all for that! How about I make you scrambled eggs? No bacon, I promise.”

“I’m never going to be able to eat bacon when we’re at the farm. I just can’t.”

“We’re having chicken tonight,” Kane said with a smirk, jumping out of the bed before she could hit him.

She threw a pillow at him instead. “Go! Make me breakfast.” She got out of bed as well, pulled on her pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. “I’ll feed the animals and hide the chickens.”

They were both laughing as they headed downstairs.

Kane spent a large portion of the day with builders, discussing what was needed to get the house into a liveable condition. That turned out to be pretty much what he’d expected – a new roof, new windows and a heating system. It was a large house and the costs were greater than he’d anticipated. He wasn’t sure how he was going to pay for it all. He was wealthy by anyone’s standards, but it was all earned money, and there wasn’t an unlimited pot. Most of it was tied up in his apartment and paying for his lifestyle. He had stocks, though, which he could liquidate. The house was a different kind of investment, in his family, his future.

Abby was outside with Vera digging over the vegetable plots and planting seeds or whatever it was that had to be done at this time of year. They came into the kitchen while Kane was making some coffee, armed with leeks and a cauliflower.

“You must have smelled the coffee,” said Kane.

“We have the last of the leeks and cauliflower,” said Abby, putting the vegetables in the sink to wash. She came over to give him a hug. Her face was smeared with dirt and she smelled loamy like the earth. He breathed her in while he kissed one of the few clean patches of skin on her face.

“Did you have a good day?”

“We did, didn’t we, Vera?”

“We did, love. It was nice to have the help.”

“You might want to wash your faces,” said Kane as he filled three mugs with coffee. “You look like you’ve dug yourselves up.”

“We’re going to make soup,” said Abby when she sat down and took a sip of her drink. “Ah, that’s nice.”

“Chicken soup?” said Kane, receiving a sarcastic smile in response.

“Leek, cauliflower and potato,” said Vera, oblivious to their private joke.

“Sounds great. I had an interesting day with the builders. We have some decisions to make.”

He spread some brochures on the table. “The roof I’m just going to go for a like for like replacement, but you need to decide what windows you prefer, and what kind of heating system.”

Vera took a brochure and flicked through it. “There’s a lot of choices.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know, Marcus. You should decide.”

“It’s your house.”

“No, it’s yours.”

“Yes, but you’re the one that lives here. I want your input.”

“What do you think, Abby love?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Vera. It’s your decision.”

Kane was growing frustrated at their inability to make a decision about who was making a decision! He’d thought his mom and Abby would want to be included, but neither of them seemed to care. Maybe he should just get what he liked.

“I’d like your opinion,” continued Vera to Abby. “You have good taste.”

Abby glanced at Marcus who nodded, pleased now that she was getting involved.

“Okay, thank you. Well, let’s see.” She opened the window brochures and examined them. “I guess we want something that’s in keeping with the style of the house, like is there a modern version of the sash windows?”

“I think towards the end of that one,” said Kane.

He sat back and watched while she discussed the windows with his mom. He wanted her to have a say, because this was her house as much as it was his and Vera’s. They might never live here full time but Abby loved coming here, and there was a lot to do, so he envisaged many journeys up and down the Interstate in the future. 

A second cup of coffee later they’d chosen timber sash windows, the most expensive in the brochure of course, and a heating system with cast iron radiators that would be in keeping with the age of the property. The cost made Kane’s eyes water when he mentally added it up, and this was before they’d considered converting rooms, adding bathrooms, and all the cosmetic alterations that came with major building projects.

“I’m quite excited about this now!” said Vera.

“You don’t mind all the changes?” said Abby.

“No, love. You can’t live in the past. I have my memories, and if I want to think of Matteo I only have to look at Marcus. He’s just like him, in more ways than I ever thought.”

Kane had to swallow a lump that came to his throat. He busied himself making notes, not looking at the two women whose eyes he could feel boring into him. “I, erm, I’ll go and call the builders now so they can start ordering what they need.” He went out into the hall, glad for once that the cell phone signal was down so he had an excuse to leave the room and use the landline. He was getting far too sentimental in his old age.

\---

Abby had cooked dinner that night with Vera, sharing the tasks and chatting together as though they’d known each other all their lives. A comedy double act, Marcus called them. “Like Lucy and Ethel,” Vera had said. “More like Bert and Ernie,” Marcus had replied, receiving a flick of the tea towel against his arm for his comment.

He was doing all the clearing up now as further punishment, while Vera dozed by the fire. Abby had come outside for a walk in the fading light, via Flora’s pen and the sheep who were always excited to see her. Now she was sitting on the rickety bench, watching the sun set behind the treetops. She felt at home here; there was no denying it.

It was amazing how comfortable she felt with Vera as well, even with her gentle questioning and hints about marriage and babies and her future with Marcus. She’d probably wondered if she would ever have the chance of those things with her complicated, distant only son. It was understandable that she was excited and unable to contain it. Elizabeth, as she now thought of the woman who’d given birth to her, someone who didn’t deserve the term mom, had told Abby she’d never find the right man, or someone who would love her with all his soul. Funny how the distant man and the unlovable woman had found each other and created something wonderful.

“This is becoming a tradition,” said a voice behind her, and Marcus set two steaming mugs of apple cider on the table and took his place beside her, the bench rocking with an ominous creak beneath his weight, and then settling again. “I’ll have to get this bench fixed.”

Abby looked at him with alarm. “No, don’t. Don’t change this. I love it. I love its lop-sidedness and its flaking wood and all the knots.”

“Some of those knots are the size of dinner plates,” said Marcus, putting his arm around her.

“That’s an exaggeration,” she said, laughing.

“It’s not! I had to be careful where I put your mug in case it fell right through to the ground.”

“Idiot,” said Abby, leaning into him.

“Hmm.” He kissed her hair, and then they both stared at the sunset as it painted the treetops orange and gold.

“Beautiful,” said Abby.

“Yes,” replied Marcus.

They took sips of their cider, watching as the glow intensified, and the light spread out across the fields.

\---

Kane sat with his arm around Abby watching the sunset. It was beautiful and spirit lifting, but he wasn’t paying much attention to it. His heart was thumping in his chest and when he lifted his mug to take a sip of his cider his hand was shaking. Good God, man, he thought, you’ve had bigger challenges, faced scarier things than this, but he hadn’t, because it was always someone else’s future at stake. Not his. He’d never laid himself so bare as he did with Abby, and now he was about to open himself up completely, to commit to her, and ask her to commit the rest of her life to him, to put up with him really let’s be honest, warts and all, every day forever more. What if she said no? It was unlikely, because they’d already kind of half done it, but a lot had happened since then, and he still wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was the right time.

There was no right time according to his mom, which was probably true, but there was definitely a wrong time. Was this it? Was it too soon? Oh, for God’s sake! Just get on with it! He must have muttered something out loud because Abby turned to him with a slight frown.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing,” said Kane, his voice coming out squeaky. He coughed to clear his throat. “It’s a beautiful evening.”

“It is.” She smiled at him, the gold in her hair highlighted by the last of the sun’s rays, her dark eyes flecked amber. God, she was lovely! Okay. It was now or never.

Kane took a deep breath, checked his pocket one last time, even though he knew the box was in there because he checked it all the time. It had become an obsession with him, its shape almost moulded to him, the perceived weight of it far bigger than the reality. It would be good to get this out of the way.

He coughed again, removed his arm from around Abby and shuffled away slightly so that he had room to manoeuvre. “Erm, Abby,” he said, and then he paused, the speech he’d written in his head suddenly sounding too much like one of his opening statements.

“Yes?” she said, and she looked closely at him. Then he saw her take a breath herself, her lips parting slightly. She knew. She knew and she wasn’t running for the hills, so that was a good sign.

“You and I. We, erm. Do you remember the first time we sat on this bench? It was a similar night to this.”

“It was, yes. A wonderful night.”

“Yes. That was the first time I’d ever really talked to someone, been honest with them.”

Abby put her hand on top of his. “I know. It was hard for you.”

“It wasn’t really, though. It was easy to talk to you. I was embarrassed that I’d been that open afterwards, but the actual talking was fine.”

“You were grumpy the next day.”

“I’m an ass as you know.”

“You were funny.”

“You’re very accepting of my idiosyncrasies.”

“I am,” she said, smiling.

Kane laughed. He was relaxing more the longer he talked. By Christmas he might be ready to propose. He chuckled again at that thought.

“It’s not that funny,” said Abby.

“I was just...never mind. We were both a bit lost that night and I remember telling you that you would be everything to someone one day.”

Abby’s eyes grew bright and sparkly, and Kane had to deploy some of the tricks he’d learnt in the courtroom to keep himself from getting too emotional.

“You did,” she said softly.

“You are everything to someone; you’re everything to me, and I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

He fumbled in his pocket for the box, then extricated himself from the bench and in the last rays of the setting sun he got down on one knee on the damp grass. He held the box aloft. “I’ve been carrying this around for a while, waiting for the right time.”

“Oh, wow!” said Abby, smiling down at him, tears forming in her eyes.

“Abby Griffin, will you marry me?” He opened the box, showed her the sapphire ring. It was age old, this ritual, performed millions of times over hundreds of years, by people more or less nervous than he, but he still felt the enormity of it, and the intimacy. It was just her and him, and this moment.

Abby wiped away a tear. “I will. You know I will,” she said, and she leant forward, took his face in her hands and kissed him passionately. “I love you so much,” she said. “You’re everything to me too.”

“I love you too, more than anything.” He took the ring out of the box. “Shall we try this on?”

“Of course.”

He took her hand and slid the ring down her finger with a hand that had thankfully stopped shaking. “It’s a little big.” He’d had to guess the size because the only ring he’d found when rummaging through her jewellery box was large and had clearly belonged to her father.

“It’s beautiful. I love it.” She gazed down at it, ran her fingers over the stone and the diamonds that studded it.

Kane took her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed the ring and her finger. “I’m so lucky,” he said.

“We both are. Come and get up here.” Abby patted the bench and Kane eased himself up off the grass and sat next to her. She put her hands either side of his face and pulled him towards her, kissing him passionately. “We may have been lost that night, but we found each other,” she said when they parted.

“It’s the most wonderful thing.”

“Yeah. Your mom’s going to be happy.”

“Oh, God, yeah.” Kane took Abby’s hand, stroking the ring with his fingers. It felt strange it being there, a part of her now that hadn’t existed before. 

“Shall we go and tell her?”

“In a minute. I want to keep it just the two of us for a while longer yet.” He wrapped his arms around her, and they kissed until the sun had disappeared and the first stars were pricking the inky sky.

\---

They walked hand in hand in the moonlight back to the house. Marcus kept stroking Abby’s finger, as though to reassure himself the ring was really there, that he’d finally asked her. She’d known he was going to do it as soon as he’d said ‘Erm, Abby,’ because it wasn’t like him to be hesitant, and he sounded like he was about to deliver some bad news. A nervous Marcus Kane was an unusual sight, and her heart had gone out to him. He’d been fiddling in his pocket for a couple of weeks now, and it had become a habit. She was glad for his sake that he’d got the words out, done the deed. Maybe he would relax more.

She was pleased now he’d asked her here, where their biggest relationship breakthroughs had happened. It felt right, better than at the top of the Empire State Building, which had its meaning, but not like this, not like the farm. They’d fallen in love here, admitted their feelings, made love for the first time. It was all bound up in the farm.

Vera was sitting in the parlour, knitting as always. She looked up as they came in, still holding hands. “Did you have a nice walk, Abby?”

“I did, and Marcus found me. We had an interesting conversation.”

“Oh, yes?” Vera looked at them both with innocent eyes at first, and then a smile spread across her face. “What was interesting about it?”

“Abby’s agreed to be shackled to me for the rest of her life,” said Marcus, holding up her hand so Vera could see the ring.

“It was a lot more romantic than that,” said Abby, as Vera eased herself out of the chair and came towards them.

She took Abby’s hand, looked at the ring. “It’s beautiful. I’m so happy for you both.”

Abby and Marcus were enveloped in a floral-scented hug that squeezed the breath out of Abby. She was relieved when Vera pulled away.

“Jeez, mom. Don’t kill us,” said Marcus.

“Sorry. I’m just...I’m beyond happy. I never thought this day would come.”

“I think we know that, mom.”

“Abby is a special person.”

“She is.” Marcus kissed her hand. “I’ve got some champagne hidden in the pantry; I’ll just go and get it.”

He left, and Vera brought Abby into another hug, marginally less life-threatening than before. “I love you, Abby,” she said. “I couldn’t ask for anyone better for Marcus. I know he’ll be good to you. He’ll never let you down.”

“Thank you, Vera. I know. He’s a wonderful man. You have a son to be proud of.”

“And a daughter.”

Abby dissolved into tears at that, and by the time Marcus came back she and Vera were what was commonly termed a crying mess.

“Good Lord!” Marcus exclaimed. “I left for two minutes! This is supposed to be a happy event.”

“It is,” said Abby, wiping away her tears. “They’re happy tears.”

“You could learn from women, Marcus. It’s best not to keep everything bottled up.”

“There’s no chance of that with you two and your second sight. Shall we have a drink?”

He handed them all glasses and popped open the champagne. Abby held her glass beneath to catch the first bubbles as they overflowed.

“We need a toast!” said Vera when their glasses were filled.

“To Amore!” said Marcus.

“Amore!” said Abby and Vera.

Abby took a large draught of her champagne. “Mmm, nice!”

“Veuve Clicquot,” said Marcus.

“Of course. I think you should sing the whole song, Marcus. We only got a few lines at Christmas.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you if I’d known this was going to happen.”

“I’m only marrying you because of your voice. I’ve always wanted a man who can sing.”

“Oh, jeez.” Marcus laughed. “Okay. I suppose I’ve got you now; there’s no backing out no matter what. Mom, the music.”

Vera put the Dean Martin song on the turntable and Marcus grabbed Abby like he had at Christmas and danced her around the room while singing the song. He sang it in an exaggerated Italian-American accent, looking her directly in the eyes, and Abby was crying with laughter by the end.

“What on earth is a gay tarantula?” she said when they collapsed breathlessly on the sofa.

“Tarantella. It’s the dance we just did,” said Marcus.

“Oh!”

“It’s from southern Italy, where we’re from,” said Vera. “You’ll see when you go there on your honeymoon.”

“We haven’t made those decisions yet, mom,” said Marcus.

“It does seem ideal, though, Marcus,” said Abby, who was taken with the idea of going to Italy and discovering his culture.

“It would be perfect for you both. Where will you get married? When?”

“I only just asked her, mom! We haven’t discussed that kind of thing.”

“You could get married here. I believe you can get a licence for such things these days.”

“That’s a lovely thought, Vera,” said Abby. “We’ll definitely consider it.”

“It is,” replied Marcus, “but give us a few minutes to get used to all this will you?”

“I’m just excited,” said Vera.

“I know; so are we.”

Marcus put his arm around Abby, and she rested her head on his shoulder. It was amazing what words could do. Four little words, ‘will you marry me’, and suddenly everything felt different. It shouldn’t, and yet it did. It was official, their love. Sanctioned. They’d have to think about places, and ceremonies, and vows. What to wear, who to invite. Maybe they should just do it in Napoli, with only the celebrant and the seagulls as witnesses. She glanced at Vera, who was humming along to another Dean Martin song. Who was she kidding? They’d never get away with that.

\---

They went to bed early, taking more champagne with them, and made love in the same way they had the first time. It seemed fitting somehow. They lay in their usual positions afterwards, Kane on his back with Abby curled into him. Her hand was on his chest, playing with the hairs, her ring glinting in the firelight. Kane traced the shape of it with his finger.

“Do you like the ring?” he said, realising that he hadn’t asked her, and she might have been expecting something more traditional like a diamond.

“I do, yes. I love it.”

“You wouldn’t have preferred a diamond? You can say if you would. We can change it.”

She looked up at him with a smile. “I would tell you, but no, I really like it. It’s unusual, and blue is my favourite colour.”

“I know. It suits you.”

She looked at the ring again. “It does. When did you get this?”

“About three weeks ago now. I had a client meeting downtown, so I met up with that guy to arrange the movie and then I went to Tiffany’s. I had to guess the size, but I think I got it wrong.” He twisted the ring and it turned easily around her finger.

“Not by much. We’ll go back to Tiffany’s and get it resized, although with your mom’s cooking it will probably fit by the time we leave here.”

“That’s true.”

She stroked his chest again, settled her head back down. “Speaking of leaving here.”

“Hmm?” Kane closed his eyes so he could concentrate on her touch.

“That house, the one you showed me in the West Village.”

“Yes?” he said, opening his eyes again, a feeling of anticipation rising within him. She hadn’t mentioned it since they went to view it, and he hadn’t wanted to push her.

“I don’t think it’s what I want.”

Oh. That was disappointing. “No?”

“Not yet.”

Kane twisted so he could look at her properly. “Didn’t you like it?”

“Oh, I loved it, and I was really touched that you thought about the outside space and what I would like. That was sweet of you.”

“But?”

“No buts really; I’m not sure that it’s the right move, that’s all.”

Kane struggled to hide his disappointment. It wasn’t just the house she was rejecting, but the idea behind it. “It’s too big I suppose, if we don’t need a family home,” he couldn’t stop himself saying. He’d rather she told him the truth about not wanting children so they could get on with their lives without it hanging over them like a huge question mark. His mom was right; it was a conversation they needed to have. Her answer came as a surprise.

“I didn’t say we don’t need a family home.”

They both turned then so they were lying face to face. “What ARE you saying?”

“I guess I’m saying there are things to think about before we make a move like that. A few months ago, you said that there were lots of futures, and having children was one of them.”

“I know.”

“Well, I was taken by surprise, because I’d never figured you for being a family man, not in that sense. It hadn’t crossed my mind that you’d want children, and like I said at the time, I’d pretty much forgotten that it was an option, because I wasn’t with anyone and I had my career and I’m not getting any younger.”

“You’re not that old.”

“I’m old enough. They change your lives, children. They turn them upside down. They’re a commitment that we both have to want.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“If we have children, you won’t be able to work all the time, long days and nights, weekends, at the beck and call of clients. I don’t want to be effectively a single mom like so many of my colleagues ended up, and I certainly don’t want to leave my children with a succession of nannies and governesses like I was. We’d have to share the responsibility.”

“I know. I want to take care of my own children.”

“Are you sure? It means big changes to our lifestyles, and it’s probably not all going to be fun and games. I mean you must remember what you were like as a kid. Imagine having one of you to deal with.”

Kane laughed. “That is a terrifying thought. I don’t blame you for worrying about this or being surprised by it. Family man was definitely not the image I cultivated, and since we got together we haven’t talked about it properly. I guess it was a vague notion until I met you, but it’s not a whim, it’s not a fanciful idea. I understand it entails a lot of sacrifice, but I do want a family life. I want the happiness my parents had, unbelievable though it sounds to my own ears.” He laughed again, softly.

“It’s not unbelievable; I understand it,” she said, stroking his face.

“Is it something you want? Because you were right before, it does need us both to be committed, and I’m being honest when I say it doesn’t matter if the answer is no. Being with you is all I really need.”

“I know you’re being honest. Yes, I mean, I think...yes. When I was younger I probably did imagine that one day I would, but then you know, Jake and my dad...and then like I said, it didn’t seem possible.”

She looked so carefully at him Kane felt like he was under a microscope. He tried to hold her gaze, hoped that he would stand up to her scrutiny and be judged fit.

She nodded; decision clearly made. “Yes, I think it would be nice to have a family, our own family. I’d like to give our kids a better childhood than I had.”

“We will do that.”

“I know we will.” She kissed him sweetly, and Kane wrapped his arms around her, held her tightly to him.

“Thank you.”

“I know time is a factor, but let’s not rush. I want us to spend some time alone first. We’ll get married, we’ll have our honeymoon in Napoli and we’ll be together just the two of us in our apartment. Then in a year or so we’ll start trying for a baby. How does that sound?”

“That sounds wonderful,” said Kane. She was right, they did need to enjoy being alone together first. It was only their ages that imbued the decision with urgency.

“In a couple of years we could have a mini me or you,” said Abby, squeezing him.

“I hope for a mini you.”

“I think a mini you would be cute. I’ve seen your baby pictures.”

“I was adorable.”

“Of course.”

“We might have one of each.”

“That would be nice.”

Kane kissed her hair. “You’ve changed my life,” he said, overwhelmed suddenly with his love for her, and his happiness. “Not just changed it; transformed it beyond all recognition.”

“You’ve done the same for me. We’ve come a long way since that fateful night.”

“It’s been a crazy journey, and we’ve only just begun.”

“That’s a song,” murmured Abby sleepily.

“I still owe you a performance.”

“Sing me to sleep.”

“It might give you nightmares, but okay.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, and he searched his memory for lines from the song, before singing them softly to her, murmuring them really, and she was asleep before he’d got as far as the rising sun. He slipped the ring from her finger so it wouldn’t fall off and get lost in the bed, placing it on the nightstand.

He turned out the light and rolled back into position. She sighed and curled further into him.

“Night, Abby,” he whispered.

“Night, Marcus,” she mumbled in reply.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In every ending there is a beginning.

Kane sat in his office, marking up some changes to the draft of his manuscript. The door was open, and a chill wind blew in, battling with the wood-burning stove for supremacy. He zipped up his padded jacket and carried on writing, the pen held stiffly between gloved fingers. He could shut the door and it would be cosy, but Abby was at work, and he needed to keep one ear and eye open for trouble. It came five minutes later in the form of a small bundle of joyful energy.

“Daddy! I want find treasure.” Matteo barrelled in, came straight up to Kane and tried to grab his hand. “Come on!”

“I thought you were helping grandma?” Kane said, pulling the small boy onto his knee.

“I ‘scaped!”

“Again? You’re worse than the sheep for getting loose.”

“Can we find treasure, daddy?” Matteo turned large dark eyes on Kane, eyes that were almost identical to Abby’s, except for the flecks of amber he’d inherited from Kane. He found it almost impossible to say no to those eyes, a fact which Matteo had already latched onto, despite being only two years old.

“I suppose we can, Indiana,” he said, putting his son down. He took a woollen hat he always kept in his drawer for moments like this, and put it on the boy’s head, tucking his dark curls beneath it.

“Who’s Injana?”

“A curious soul like you. Let’s see what we can find.”

Kane took Matteo’s hand and they went outside. He shut the door of the wooden shed he called his office to keep the heat in, and then they trudged through the snow towards the house. Vera Kane came out onto the veranda as they approached.

“Matteo!” she shouted, looking around.

“I’ve got him,” shouted Kane in reply.

His mother located him, and then waved. “Okay.”

“We’ll be in soon.”

Vera nodded and walked slowly back inside. She was slowing down now she was in her mid-seventies, and the children were getting old enough to run rings around her, which delighted and frustrated her in equal measure.

“Daddy let’s go big field,” said Matteo, running ahead so that Kane was pulled along behind him.

“Walk, don’t run,” he said pointlessly.

The big field was the one beyond the farmhouse towards the barn, where they kept the sheep and the pigs. The animals came running towards them as they opened the gate and entered.

“Sheepies!” squealed Matteo, patting their woollen coats. They nuzzled his hand, nudged against his small, chubby legs. They would have knocked him over if Kane hadn’t been holding onto him.

“They want food,” he said, “but it’s not time yet.”

“No food!” said Matteo, shaking his finger at the sheep, who ignored him.

“We’ll come back later,” said Kane.

They headed into the field, fresh snow falling gently around them, and Matteo suddenly stopped, bent down and rummaged around in the snow. Small shoots of grass were poking through, but Kane couldn’t see anything else of interest. Matteo, however, was transfixed. After a minute of intense looking and moving the snow around with his gloved hand, he held something triumphantly towards Kane. It was a tiny pebble.

“Look!” he said excitedly.

“Wow!” said Kane dutifully. He’d been on dozens of foraging trips with Matteo since the child learned how to walk, but he still got a kick out of his sheer delight in the most mundane of objects.

“Here,” said Matteo, handing the pebble to Kane, who put it in his pocket as per their ritual.

Matteo bent his head again, and by the time Kane judged it to be getting too cold to be out, he had a pocket full of the boy’s treasure.

“Let’s go back now,” he said, ignoring Matteo’s quivering bottom lip. “It’s nearly dinnertime.”

That got the boy moving, because he loved his food like Kane did, and they half walked, half ran back to the house. Abby’s red Toyota 4Runner was parked outside.

“Mommy!” shouted Matteo and dropped Kane’s hand so he could run inside.

Kane followed him in, and found him in the kitchen, wrapped in Abby’s arms.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she was saying. “Where have you been?”

“Treasure hunting!” he said.

“Oh, wow! Did you find lots?” She looked up as Kane entered the room, smiled at him.

“Show mommy, daddy!” said Matteo.

“Okay.” Kane went up to Abby, kissed her, and then his son. “How was work?” he said as he emptied the contents of his pocket onto the table.

“It was good. Oh, wow, that’s a lot of treasure, Matteo,” she said, setting the boy on the floor. She reached up to a shelf above the range and took down a jar that was already half full of the fruits of previous hunts. “Shall we put them with the rest?”

“Yes.” Matteo held out his arms so Kane would pick him up and stand him on a chair, which he did. Their son examined each pebble before handing it to Abby who put it in the jar.

“He escaped mom again,” said Kane as he watched them both.

“We need to tether him like the horses,” Abby said, laughing.

“I wish!” He ruffled his son’s hair lovingly. “Elizabeth called on the landline. I guess she forgot it was one of your office days.”

“Nothing new there. What did she want?”

“Just to finalise some details about her visit at Christmas.”

“Okay, I’ll call her later.”

Abby’s relationship with her mom was like a house built on sand, constantly shifting with unstable foundations, but intact, just about.

“I can’t wait for her to meet Marie and Frank,” said Kane with a wry laugh. “Are we crazy having them all here for Christmas?”

“Probably, but the more people there are, the less certain individuals can dominate.”

“True, and we can hide in the kitchen, cooking.”

“We can.” She kissed his cheek. “How did your revisions go?”

“Fine. Another chapter down.” Kane was writing a memoir-come-study of some of his most notorious criminal cases. He’d been the subject of a bidding war between three major New York publishing houses and had been the fortunate recipient of a six-figure advance from Random House. His deadline was tight, though, and he was due to hand in a completed manuscript by the end of January, which was just over a month away.

“You’re doing well,” said Abby.

“I have no choice!”

“Don’t stand there complaining when you get to sit in a warm office most of the time while some of us have to go out to work.”

“I’m constantly interrupted by your children,” he said. “I’d have had it done by now if I wasn’t treasure hunting or ballet dancing.”

“Poor you,” said Abby, pressing a kiss to his head. “And they’re OUR children.”

Their other child chose that moment to come into the kitchen, her plump lips set in a pout.

“Mommy, grandma won’t play hide and seek with me!” she said, standing huffily, her hands on her hips. She was so like Abby it made Kane smile, even though she was hard work at times. She was four going on forty, and to say she had her own mind was an understatement.

“Grandma’s probably tired, Charlotte. Daddy will play with you.” Abby turned a smug grin on Kane, who gave her a look that would kill someone less strong than her.

“Fine,” he said. “Maybe I should hide first.”

“Yes, daddy!” said Charlotte.

“No, you won’t,” said Abby. “You and Matteo can hide, and daddy will come and find you.”

The children ran off, and Kane turned to Abby. “I’ll get you back for that.”

“You love it really,” she said, slipping her arms around his waist.

“Hmmm. How long do I have before I have to go find them?” he said, kissing the side of her neck.

“Not long enough,” she said, squeezing his butt and then wriggling out of his grasp. “I’ll make lasagne for dinner if you entertain the kids for an hour.”

“This is what my life has been reduced to. Bargaining.”

“You’ve always loved a good argument.”

“Yes, but I used to win them more often back then.”

“Times change. Now go find them before they destroy something or kill your mother.”

He gave her another quick kiss, then went to the door of the kitchen.

“Coming ready or not!” he shouted, smiling as he heard giggles coming from the parlour.

They’d played a few rounds of hide and seek before Kane realised they hadn’t fed the animals and it would be dinnertime soon. It was the only chore the children had at this age and he liked to stick to it because they had a lot of freedom and they needed some structure and discipline. He’d resented having to do chores around the farm when he was young, mainly because he was bitter about having been ripped from his life back in the city, and he didn’t want his kids to feel that way. He wanted them to be used to it, to love and care for the animals so they would grow up to be compassionate people. That was the hope, anyway. Matteo was always excited about doing anything with the animals, but Charlotte sometimes pushed back.

“Hey, do you know what we haven’t done yet?” he said, injecting excitement into his voice so they’d be interested.

“What?” said Matteo, jumping up and down on the spot.

“We haven’t fed the animals.”

“Oh! They hungry!”

“They are hungry. We’d better go do it.” He expected complaint from his daughter, and she did give him a long stare like her mother used to do across the courtroom. Kane held her gaze before holding out his hand. To his surprise she took it wordlessly and with Matteo in the other hand he headed to the hallway, stopping to poke his head into the kitchen.

“We’re going to feed the animals,” he said to Abby, who was putting something that looked happily like focaccia into the oven. Kane couldn’t wait to get fed himself later.

“Don’t be long. Dinner’s in thirty.”

“Okay.”

In the hallway he put small feet into tiny wellies, eased chubby arms into padded coats and zipped them up. Gloves next and then woolly hats. He stood and examined his two winter pixies, tucked a stray curl of Matteo’s under his hat, wrapped a scarf around Charlotte because she wasn’t as keen on the cold as her brother. It was a lot quicker and simpler doing these chores in the summer when they lived in shorts and t-shirts.

He put his own wellies on and fastened up his coat. “Okay! Are we ready?”

“Yes!” shouted Matteo.

“Yes,” said Charlotte more demurely.

“Let’s go.”

The sun was already fading as they trudged through the snow towards the barn. Flora’s pen was still there but it was empty for the time being, the pig having died a year after they moved to Ithaca. It had been devasting for Abby who was pregnant with Matteo at the time and highly emotional anyway without the added grief of losing the pig. She’d had a good life, though, as Kane kept telling Abby, and they’d buried her in the big field where she’d liked to roam when she was younger.

Kane dragged the barn door open and there was just enough light filtering through the gaps for them to see.

“Get your pails,” he said, and the children picked up their buckets and waited patiently while he sprinkled a large handful of grain into each one. They were well used to the routine by now. Kane filled the wheelbarrow with hay and more grain and pushed it through the snow, the children running ahead swinging their pails. They paused at a patch of ground that only had a light dusting of snow because they cleared it every day.

“Chick chicks!” shouted Matteo loudly, and he plunged his hand into the pail and threw the grain into the air so it dispersed to the four winds.

“Try to throw it towards the ground,” said Kane, taking a handful from the wheelbarrow and demonstrating how to scatter it. He did this twice a day, but Matteo had so far stuck to the scatter gun approach.

“Like this, Matteo,” said Charlotte primly, throwing her own seed on the ground as Kane had done.

Matteo threw the next handful up into the air and laughed. The chickens arrived, squawking and squabbling, and didn’t seem to mind that they had to roam some distance to gather all their food.

“Pigs next,” said Kane, and they went through the gate towards the huts. They’d rescued two new pigs to ease the pain of losing Flora, and the children had one each.

“Pig Pig!” called Matteo, crouching so he could peer inside the corrugated hut. Most of the animals in Matteo’s world had two names, which was the same word repeated. Pig Pig wasn’t very original, but it was what he’d chosen, and it had stuck.

Pig Pig wasn’t keen on venturing out into the cold, so he only came to the edge of the hut and Kane helped Matteo empty his pail of grain on the ground. He added some scraps and fruit and then they left the pig to eat. Charlotte had already fed her pig, Dora, named after the famous explorer whose adventures Kane had to endure on a daily basis. He added the hay bales to the sheep’s trough and then they went through to the other side of the gate and watched the animals as they ate.

“Pig Pig greedy,” said Matteo with a judgemental tut that made Kane smile.

“He can be.”

“Will Dora have babies?” said Charlotte. One of her friends at kindergarten had a new baby sister and Charlotte was obsessed with the subject.

“It’s unlikely,” said Kane, omitting the fact that Dora was actually a boy. He’d told Charlotte that a year ago when they’d got the pigs, and it had led to a huge tantrum and lots of crying because she’d wanted a Dora the Explorer pig. Dora was therefore a girl whether the pig liked it or not.

“I want babies,” she said, looking up at him with large dark eyes.

“You’re way too young for that,” he said, picking her up and cuddling her.

“Pig Pig gone now,” said Matteo sadly.

“You’ll see him again tomorrow.”

“Hey!” came a familiar voice from behind them. “Doesn’t anyone want any dinner?”

They all turned to see Abby trudging towards them. She was wearing the boots he’d bought her for Christmas when they’d first got together. They were scuffed now and constantly covered in mud, but they still had her name embossed on them. She had on a different jacket, though, to the one back then. This one was a bright blue and Kane often joked that she’d be easy to find if she ever got lost or buried in a snow drift.

“Pig Pig tired, mommy,” said Matteo holding his arms out to Abby who duly picked him up.

“I don’t think it’s just Pig Pig who is tired,” she said as Matteo yawned. “You’ll be falling asleep in your dinner again.”

Kane put Charlotte in the wheelbarrow, which made Matteo jealous and so he ended up pushing them both back to the barn. Before he closed up he whispered something to the children, and when they started walking back he suddenly shouted, “last one to the house has to clean all the boots,” and the kids were already off and running and he sprinted after them, leaving Abby trailing behind because she wasn’t in on the trick.

They were kicking off their boots in the hallway when she arrived. “You absolute B word!” she said, standing with her hands on her hips, looking down at the pile of mud and snow-streaked boots.

“You’ll have to clean them, mommy!” said Charlotte, laughing.

“Mommy clean!” squealed Matteo.

“Oh, don’t worry. I shall be paying careful attention to the boots later, especially daddy’s.”

Kane expected he would find something horrendous in his boots sometime in the future, jelly probably, or cream cheese. It wasn’t the first time he’d tricked her like this and received a punishment.

“It’s worth it,” he said, putting his arm around Abby and giving her a kiss.

“Hmm,” she said, supressing a laugh.

When they sat down to dinner a few minutes later, Kane noticed his portion of lasagne wasn’t much bigger than Matteo’s. He looked up at Abby who was looking at him, eyebrows raised as if to dare him to say anything.

“Lovely!” he said, forking a small amount into his mouth. If this was all he was going to get he’d have to make the most of it.

“You’re...” said Abby, trailing off because what she probably wanted to call him wasn’t mentionable in front of the children.

“The man you love?” ventured Kane.

“Sometimes,” she said, smiling.

\---

Abby sat at the kitchen table trying to work on a case file while Vera and the children were drawing next to her. There was silence for once as everyone concentrated, and she managed to get half her opening statement drafted before she was interrupted, which was something of a record.

“Mommy look at this!” said Charlotte, waving a piece of paper under Abby’s nose.

“That’s beautiful, baby,” said Abby, looking at the vague form of a person in what she had to assume was a tutu because ballet dancing was Charlotte’s obsession. She was dressed in her leotard and tutu now, waiting for Marcus to come home so she could pester him into playing the piano while she danced.

It was Abby’s fault, really, her daughter’s fixation. She’d found old videos of herself dancing when she was clearing out her childhood home, and Marcus had arranged for them to be digitised by the same guy who’d done the ones of his family. When Abby was pregnant with Matteo and too big to move around much, she and Charlotte had lain on the sofa and watched the DVDs, and that had been the start of it. Now, everything was ballet.

“It’s you, mommy,” she said, pointing at a brown streak that may or may not represent Abby’s hair.

“I can see that! It’s a great likeness.”

“Why don’t you draw one of daddy?” said Vera, who was adept at diverting the children’s attention so Abby could work.

“Okay,” said Charlotte.

“Thank you,” mouthed Abby, and Vera smiled.

“How’s your statement coming along?” said Vera when Charlotte was settled again doing another drawing.

“Fine. I’ve got all the points I want to make. The prosecutor’s case is weak.”

“Don’t underestimate your opponent, Abby. Bring your best game,” said Vera in an imitation of Marcus’s voice.

Abby laughed, causing Charlotte and Matteo to look up.

“What funny, mommy?” said the boy.

“Grandma’s making me laugh.”

“Silly grandma,” said Charlotte.

“Yes, grandma’s very silly,” said Vera.

“She’s a godsend,” said Abby.

“What’s that?” said Charlotte.

“Someone who puts up with all of us,” replied Abby.

Charlotte had been three months old when Abby and Marcus had made the decision to move to Ithaca permanently. They’d gone to view a ground floor apartment in Lower Manhattan which allegedly had a garden room. They’d pushed the baby through streets crowded with people, cars at a standstill, exhaust fumes visible in the cold air. The apartment was nice but the garden was tiny, not much more than a patio, and nowhere near enough room for Charlotte to play or run around, and certainly not for the second child they were hoping would come along within the next couple of years.

They’d stood in the tiny garden and looked at each other.

“This isn’t for us,” said Marcus.

“No,” said Abby, reaching into the stroller to take out the baby who had started to cry. “It’s okay,” she murmured as she put her against her shoulder.

“Is she alright?” said Marcus, stroking the back of the baby’s head. He still had new father syndrome, which manifested itself in constantly worrying about Charlotte and Abby and FaceTiming Abby every spare moment he got at work to check they were okay. Abby had even received a call from the courtroom when Charlotte was new-born, the judge’s admonition interrupting Marcus’s enquiry about whether she was managing to feed her okay.

“New father,” Sinclair, who was Marcus’s co-chair on the case, had said.

“Ah,” replied the judge, and then the call had ended.

The memory of that call made Abby laugh again. She glanced at her two children who were too busy drawing with grandma to notice her laugh this time. Matteo was scribbling determinedly on his piece of paper, his little pink tongue gripped between his baby teeth as he concentrated. They’d been a lot less fussy over him, who had been born at the farm with two well-practised, calmer parents and a grandmother that nothing fazed. He was consequently much more laid back than his highly strung sister. Poor Charlotte. They’d probably already ruined her.

Back in that tiny garden and Marcus had taken over the soothing of Charlotte because she always quieted better for him than for Abby.

“I’m starting to wonder if any of this is right for us,” he said.

“Any of what?”

“This.” He waved his hand around at the tall buildings that crowded in on them. “The city.”

Abby was glad she wasn’t holding the baby because she might have dropped her, she was so surprised at his comment. “Really?”

Charlotte had quieted and gone back to sleep, and Marcus rocked her in his arms. “Yes. What do you think?”

“I, erm...yes, maybe.” She responded cautiously even though he was saying something she’d secretly hoped he would one day. He felt a new father’s over protectiveness, and they were both chronically sleep-deprived. He might not be thinking clearly about the consequences of what he was saying.

“I think there’s been somewhere else you’d rather be for a long time now,” he said, looking her firmly in the eyes.

“I want to be wherever you and Charlotte are,” said Abby, emotion welling up inside her at the realisation that he’d noticed what she was longing for and was considering it.

“I know that, but wouldn’t you be happier out of the city, up at the farm?”

“In Ithaca?” she said, just to be sure. Her heart was thumping now in her chest.

“How many other farms do you know? Yes, in Ithaca.”

Abby examined him closely, still too surprised to truly believe. “You want to move to Ithaca, to live with your mom on the farm?”

Marcus smiled, let out a long sigh. “I think I do, yes. It would be a much better place for Charlotte to grow up, and we could spend more time together. It’s...I feel like I barely see you. I know I promised to work fewer hours but it’s not really working out well, is it?”

“It’s early days. We haven’t managed to work out a proper schedule yet.” She didn’t want to put him off the idea of Ithaca now he’d mentioned it, but at the same time she didn’t want him feeling guilty about working, because the business they were in didn’t stick to a nine-to-five routine, and that wasn’t his fault.

“I want her to have fresh, clean air and freedom, and I want those things for us too,” he said.

“Oh, so do I,” said Abby, rushing to embrace him now she was sure he’d thought it through. “I think we’ll be happy there.”

“I do too,” he said, and they hugged as best they could with the baby tucked between them.

“What about your job, the firm?” Abby said when they parted. “What will you do for work?”

“That’s something we need to figure out for both of us, if you want to go back to work, not that you have to.”

Abby had been working at the Legal Aid clinic until she’d had Charlotte but hadn’t yet returned. She was enjoying being a mom too much to rush back. She didn’t know what she would do in Ithaca, especially if they had another baby, but they would think of something. There were opportunities there the same as there were here, and a new life to be made.

“Let’s go home and discuss it,” she said.

“Okay.” Marcus put Charlotte in the stroller and bent to kiss her head. “What do you say, peanut, do you want to be a farm girl?” Charlotte blew a sleepy raspberry in reply. “I think that’s a yes,” he said, turning and smiling at Abby.

“Definitely.” Abby linked her arm through Marcus’s as he pushed the stroller through the house and back onto the street. 

They’d sold Marcus’s apartment and Sinclair had bought his share in the firm. That gave them plenty of capital to start up their own non-profit pro-bono law firm which Abby ran part time from a small office in the town. Marcus had worked with her initially, and then he’d been offered a part time professorship at his alma mater, Cornell, teaching students how to be a more ethical defence lawyer than he had been. He loved it, not as much as writing his book, but close. He was only a silent partner in the law firm now, and Abby had taken on two new assistants to help her with all the work.

She looked at her watch. It was three fifteen. He should be home from the college any moment. As she had that thought, an engine roared outside and a horn beeped.

“Daddy’s home!” shouted the children, and they jumped down from the table to run out and greet him.

“He’s trained them to do that,” said Abby, smiling ruefully at Vera.

“I know. They’re like Pavlov’s dogs when they hear the car horn.”

Marcus came into the kitchen a moment later, walking awkwardly with one child balanced on each foot.

“Afternoon!” he said, grinning at Abby.

She shook her head like she always did. He still loved to make an entrance, even though he was no longer in the courtroom. “Have you had a good day?” she said.

“Fabulous.” He shook off the children then kissed Vera on the head before coming over to Abby. He pulled her up out of the chair and into his arms. “I missed you,” he said, kissing her softly on the lips.

“Let’s give mommy and daddy a minute,” said Vera to the children.

“I want daddy to play for me!” pouted Charlotte.

“I will, peanut, in a minute. I’m just going to play with mommy first.”

“Marcus!” said Abby, hitting him on the arm. He grinned in reply.

Vera rolled her eyes at both of them, before taking the protesting children out of the room.

“You’re bad,” said Abby as his arms slid around her waist and she draped hers around his neck.

“I know,” he whispered, “but I’ve been thinking about doing this all day, and I couldn’t wait.”

He pulled her hard to him and kissed her passionately. His lips trailed down the side of her face to her neck and then a little further, to where her breasts swelled above the top of her vest.

“Mmm, God,” murmured Abby.

“Do you think the kids will notice if we disappear?” he whispered into her cleavage.

“I think they might.”

He sighed heavily, then broke away.

“You’re just going to leave me like this?” said Abby, who was flushed and damp in various places.

“Look at me!” he said, pointing to the bulge in his suit pants.

“You deserve that; you started this.”

“You know you love the anticipation.”

“Hmmm.”

“Early night tonight for everyone I think,” said Marcus, adjusting his trousers.

“Oh I think so, yes. They don’t need baths.

“No baths, although we could have a shower.”

“We could. You probably need one after your hard day standing at a whiteboard.”

“I do. Chalk dust gets in the most intimate of places.”

Abby’s shoulders were heaving now with laughter. “No one uses chalk anymore.”

“I do. I’m old fashioned.”

“Idiot.”

He kissed her more chastely then stood back. “Am I presentable enough for our children?”

“Yes. They’ll never know.”

“Okay. Let’s go and play or dance or treasure hunt or whatever it is they want us to do this time.”

“Your piano skills are required,” Abby said, following him into the family room where Charlotte and Matteo were chasing each other around the furniture.

“Right!” he said, flexing his fingers in the air. “Who’s playing and who’s dancing?”

“You’re playing, daddy,” said Charlotte laughing.

“You don’t want me to dance?”

“No.”

“You don’t think I would look good in a tutu?”

“You’d look silly,” said Charlotte and Matteo nodded in agreement.

Marcus took in a loud breath in mock indignation. “I must object to that.”

“Overruled,” said Abby.

“Fine.” Marcus sat at the baby grand piano he’d finally bought a year ago. It wasn’t a Steinway, because they couldn’t justify that expense, not when there were still rooms in the house that needed renovating, and some of the outbuildings were falling apart, but it was still an ambition fulfilled, and he was happy.

Matteo crawled onto his knee and added his own incidental notes to the dance of the sugar plum fairy. Charlotte twirled around the room, falling down more than she stayed upright, but she picked herself up each time and carried on. Vera clapped and laughed like she always did because she never seemed to get tired of watching the same things over and over again.

Abby smiled at the scene in front of her. The decision they’d made in that garden three years before had been the best one they’d ever made. She had a life now she couldn’t have imagined when she’d first seen it was Marcus on the other side of the bars, and she’d thought her life was well and truly over. Instead it had only just begun.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always sad to say goodbye to a story and this one has certainly made me shed a few tears. I really loved this version of Kane and Abby and I hope that you did too. I've always loved shows about lawyers and was glad when the inspiration for this story came so quickly after Arkadia Falls. I didn't know it was going to be quite so epic in terms of the mystery element but I really enjoyed writing that even though it was the hardest part. Writing Kabby talking to each other and teasing each other is never a chore :)
> 
> Thank you for reading and sticking with me on this journey. I've enjoyed talking to you both here and on twitter - it's the interactions that make this fun because otherwise the life of a writer is a lonely one :D
> 
> The fandom is dwindling as people move on and that's inevitable, but while I'm still inspired to write Kabby I will continue because I can't do otherwise! It's just the way it is. We move onwards and upwards always. There is no other direction to go.
> 
> Take care. Stay safe. May we meet again.


End file.
